


Call off the Search for Your Soul

by mandilorian



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Brief description of a panic attack that doesn't come to pass, Enjolras vs Cheap old houses, Everyone knows everyone in a small town, F/F, I watched the princess switch so god save y'all, Inspired by Hallmark Christmas Movies, M/M, Minor Cosette Fauchelevant/Éponine Thénardier, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Teacher Grantaire, holiday fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:07:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28083675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandilorian/pseuds/mandilorian
Summary: Enjolras bought a house in the middle of nowhere and he is going to fix it up all by himself, just so he can feel somewhat in control of his life again. He does not expect to land in a small town full of kind, loving people, and especially does not expect one of the said people to be so good with his hands. (He's a handyman, get it?)Alternative title: Enjolras discovers cheap old houses on Instagram
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 65
Kudos: 76





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a way to process my feelings and to find my way back to some resemblance of holiday cheer. If these hopeless boys can find the light at the end of the tunnel, maybe reading about them would improve your day too? 
> 
> I originally wanted to finish this by Christmas, but this is totally not happening. There will be a Christmas scene though, rest assured. I mapped the story out already and I am hoping to finish it by the end of this year. Stay with me? I have (metaphorical) hot chocolate.
> 
> Title from No.1's Party Anthem by Arctic Monkey, which is a great song. Treat yourself, give it a listen and sway around the room like a 50s film star.

_50 mph._

_80 mph._

_110 mph._

Enjolras kept trying to go faster. He needed to get away. The further he could be from D.C., the better he was going to feel. Of this, he was sure.

It was about the only thing he was certain of at that moment. 

His car whirled through the winter scene around him in a blur. Tall trees. Snow Capped mountain peaks. Interstate welcoming signs, diners, gas stations. Who the fuck cared?

He drove faster, heedless of the imminent tickets that would surely pile up in his mailbox in the upcoming days. No one else was on the road anyway. It’s early December at two in the morning and any reasonable people would literally do anything not to be on the road right now. But he was not one of them. He needed to get out of his own head. He had been suffocating for the last few months. Despair and stress had manifested into a physical ache. He couldn’t eat, he couldn’t sleep. He woke up drenched in sweat and had a panic attack every other day.

Even Enjolras knew that it wasn’t sustainable.

When he had just begun his career, people said he would get his heart broken in D.C., being in the thick of it, getting a front-row seat to all the backstabbing and the deep rooted corruption. He had laughed them off, of course, he was different. He was tough. He was smart. He knew he was meant to do something big, to change the world, or at least the world around him.

But that didn’t happen.

Enjolras bit the side of his cheek to stop himself from screaming at the thought. He sped through a tunnel, spotted a sign for Darlington, West Virginia, and barely stopped to check the dark, empty junction before he made a sharp left turn. The well-maintained interstate turned into a dirt road with patches of sleet, just to keep Enjolras on edge. He slowed down, unwilling to be caught in a snowbank overnight.

He’d been a model student, graduated summa cum laude, and was recruited to a prestigious liberal think tank in the middle of Washington D.C. even before he got his degree. The social justice club he co-founded with Combeferre and Courfeyrac during their sophomore year got passed on to the next generation of bright-eyed students. He had worked as a junior analyst for two years before they sent him off to law school, then he went back and became a senior analyst, a supervisor, an assistant director, and then a deputy director.

All the while, nothing had gotten better. Report after report was filed. Policy recommendations were made. Lawmakers were approached and no follow-up was ever requested. His organization was well funded by well-respected donors who wanted to see progressive ideas integrated into the nation’s fabric, but all the politicians saw was a bunch of kids playing pretend. They would indulge the donors and by extension, Enjolras’ team by allowing them to present their recommendations, both on paper and by the annual symposium. The symposium was just an excuse to keep the policymakers on their side anyway. People paid thousands of dollars to wear ball gowns and tuxedos and pretended to care about advancing human rights.

Which hadn’t happened in the entire six years Enjolras spent there.

He followed his GPS the best he could, but the road was dark and the signal was spotty at best. The lanes kept getting narrower and he wasn’t sure what his options were if another car or God forbid, a truck were to share his path. Finally, six and a half hours after leaving his apartment in Georgetown, he stood in front of a debilitated farm house tightly gripping a key in his right hand. 

Enjolras marched to the front door, trying and failing the key a few times before the lock gave way. He pushed the creaky wood open with his shoulder and let himself into the house, fumbling blindly for a light switch. He couldn’t get the landing light to turn on and his hands were starting to freeze. He used his phone’s flashlight to look around the room to try other light switches, but none of them worked. No lights, no heat then. Enjolras let out every swear word he could think of since no one was there to witness his moral failing anyway. 

“Fucking fuck. Jesus fucking Christ, why can’t I get a fucking break?” Enjolras muttered while getting his suitcase out of the car. It was either that or the house tonight and the house at least had a dusty couch and a fireplace. Enjolras had brought enough winter coats and scarves to hopefully survive a subzero temperature in front of a fire for one night.

Lighting a fireplace went as well as one would expect a man who’d spent his whole life in metropolitan areas to do. Enjolras still had a lighter from the smoking habit he couldn’t quite kick. The house had plenty of old newspapers and logs he could use as kindling. After googling how to start a fireplace valiantly, Enjolras managed to get the fire going. The difference was immediate. Enjolras’ fingers began to thaw and the room was finally visible to him. 

It was obvious that the room could be beautiful. The tall ceiling was carved with gorgeous woodwork and the bay window offered a cozy reading nook, with bookshelves built in all around it. The rest of the room was bare, but the fireplace was big enough to warm the whole place. Enjolras remembered seeing a picture of an old mattress in one of the bedrooms on the real estate agent’s website. He ventured upstairs with his phone, found the mattress, and dragged it back down to the living room, leaving a trail of dust bunnies in his wake. 

He couldn’t care less at the moment. A ditch on the road would have been better than his Georgetown apartment, he thought as he laid down on the mattress, tucking his second coat over his face as a blanket, and promptly fell asleep.

*

The cold rudely woke Enjolras up before dawn even had a chance to try. He shivered violently in a pitch-black room. The fire he’d built must have run its course and Enjolras looked for his phone to see what ungodly hour he had woken up to.

7:40 a.m.

Huh. That wasn’t too bad. He didn’t remember the last time he slept more than four hours in a night and it was strange that the most rest he got in three years happened in a building without working electricity. He got up, twisting his neck and back in a useless attempt to get rid of the kinks and knots. He brushed his teeth and washed his face in the freezing cold water, but no one could pay him enough to shower at this moment. The dusty mirror told him he looked marginally presentable and he got back into his car while pulling up at another address in town.

His phone took him into the main square if anyone could call a small area with a few storefronts that. Country people were obviously early risers and he saw a farm stand and a pharmacy that were already in operation despite the early hour.

Enjolras took a right turn off the main road, passed a small school and a gas station, and found a house matching the description he’d been given. White walls with green windows and roof; the front door a shade darker. 

Enjolras stood in the driveway, hesitating all of the sudden. He had known about this place for years and it had never crossed his mind that he would be here in the flesh. There was a standing invitation, of course, but the thought of making a six-hour drive all the way here seemed unthinkable a few months ago. 

He shook his head and rolled his shoulders back in an attempt to stop being a jackass. He could do this. He came all the way here so the least he could do was to walk ten feet to that door and knock on it. With his mind made up, he made it to the door and knocked softly.

‘Yes, yes, she’s coming we are sorry we overslept!” a familiar voice rang out. 

“MAMA I CAN’T FIND MY BOOTS,” a child screamed when the door jerked open violently. 

Eponine was holding a little girl’s hand and tucking her out of the door while Cosette was putting a knitted cap with a pom pom on her. All three froze at the sight of Enjolras.

“You are not Mr. R,” the little girl observed.

“Umm, no? My name is Enjolras and--”

“Oh my God, we are actually going to be late, remember the last time he showed up? Come on Noelle.” Eponine started walking straight past Enjolras. She turned to give him a once over and said, “Are you coming, D.C.? I assumed you didn’t drive all the way here to stand around.”

Cosette gave him a reassuring nod and hugged him tightly. She whispered, “We’ll talk.” and by the time she let him go he had to jog to keep up with Eponine. The girl, Noelle? Turned around to wave goodbye and blow a kiss to Cosette while eying him suspiciously. 

“Uncle Enjolras came here to give your mom a long overdue apology, Noelle.” Leave it to Eponine to cut to the chase. 

Enjolras took a steadying breath. “We both said things we didn’t mean back then and I do want a chance to talk to you about it.”

“Let me get this through your thick skull once and for all. You sacrificed our friendship for a fucking job and insulted me and my aspirations in the process. Now you have the gall to show up after two years at my door to demand a talk? No talking is taking place until you get your head out of your ass.”

“You don’t understand. I-”

Enjolras was interrupted by a polite cough.

“As riveting as this conversation is, y’all are blocking the entrance, swearing in front of kindergartners, and Noelle is, as of now, seven minutes late,” the owner of the cough chided. 

He was medium built, shorter than Enjolras, but most people are. He was about Enjolras’ age, but his features were mostly obscured by a comically large scarf and a fluffy beanie with panda ears, on top of his wild, dark curls. Enjolras could still make out twinkling eyes that crinkled with mirth, despite the statement.

“Could you give us a few minutes please, this is a personal matter,” Enjolras replied curtly.

Eponine scoffed, “Something hasn’t changed.”

The other man was undeterred. “Unfortunately you made it our business by blocking the entrance to the building and traumatizing little Noelle here.”

“I am not a tomato Mr. R!” Noelle protested.

“Of course not my dear, but the rest of the kids behind you might be.” He gestured for Enjolras to look at the impatient line of parents and children behind him. Enjolras babbled an apology and moved out of the way, silently wondering why no one was glaring at Eponine since she was even louder than him. 

Mr. R picked Noelle up and addressed the crowd. “This strange man seems to mean us no harm, everyone please resume your discreet staring instead of the current obvious looks. I shall vigilantly defend your spawns and keep this clearly stressed out city man out of the school’s perimeter.” He turned to Enjolras and Eponine. “There. You’re good to go if you’d kindly move your screaming match to the football field. It’s empty and far away from my class. Eponine, if you are going to kill him please clean up the blood properly. I don’t want to answer any awkward questions.”

He left without any more ceremony, trailed by little kids like some kind of ducklings.

“Is he...fit to take care of children?” Enjolras ventured.

“Who the hell knows, the kids worship him and he willingly offers to spend his day with them, so I refuse to question my blessing,” Eponine replied, walking back to the direction of her house.

“I’m sorry,” Enjolras said, willing himself to look at her. “We both did and said cruel things, but that doesn’t change the fact that I owe you that much and I wanted to come here to see if anything can be salvaged between us. I want to start over.”

Eponine turned around for a split second but she kept walking. “That’s a start. I guess you can come in.” 

Cosette was gone by the time they got back to the house. Eponine led him to their farmhouse kitchen bigger than Enjolras’ entire apartment times two. She silently poured coffee into two mugs the size of salad bowls and handed him one.

“Two years and three months ago, that’s the last time we spoke. What is so important that you had to drive all the way here instead of picking up the phone?”

“I quit Future for All.”

Eponine was stunned for a moment (that was no mean feat, the woman was impossible to surprise). She exhaled loudly before picking the conversation back up. “And before hell froze over as well. 

She drained her coffee and leveled a look at him. “You showed up here after all this time to tell me you did the exact same thing you condemned me for? Two years ago you looked at me and told me you were disgusted with my selfishness. You couldn’t understand that I chose my wife and her happiness over the greater good and now you are here, for what? Benediction? Sympathy?”

“I thought you of all people would understand!” Enjolras screamed. He was shaken with an all too familiar wave of nausea. His hands were clammy and he had to consciously make himself take a deep breath in and out. “I couldn’t stay any longer, Eponine, my last proposal would have used a fraction of the funds they allocate for their PR and they rejected it. They said it wasn’t visible enough! It would provide both income and training to immigrants without stretching anyone’s resources and--”

“I won’t offer you absolution, Enjolras. You were a fucking privileged rich kid who never had to struggle in his life. For once, you had to reconcile reality with your idealism and I’m not sure you have learned anything besides life’s a bitch?” Eponine got up to grab a few pictures on the fridge and handed them to Enjolras. “You didn’t know we adopted Noelle nearly two years ago, didn’t you? Gav is a Senior now and he’s going to UVA next year. Cossette is one of the five social workers in our entire county and she drives all day visiting children and single mothers.

“So, yes, I believe you are truly sorry for what you said, but your empathy still leaves a lot to be desired and it is not my job to make you feel better.”

Enjolras swallowed. Deep down, he knew Eponine was not the one he should have turned to for comfort. Courfeyrac would be a natural choice in that. Combeferre would help him take stock of his problems and come up with a solution. He wondered if he’d made the decision to show up at her door just to punish himself. 

It was more than that. Eponine was right, for once, he’d faced setbacks after setbacks and he couldn’t make it to the other side. He had been doing everything he was supposed to do and somehow that still was not enough. He felt trapped. He was drowning in the uselessness of it all. Every day for the last few months felt Sisyphean, struggling in the vain hope that something would change. She was right, he knew. Other people had it far worse and they managed to get up and try all over again every single day. Enjolras needed to find that kind of strength he simply didn’t possess. He was faced with evidence of his own insignificance and he couldn’t accept it. He needed to get away. To find an illusion of choice and find something within his control for the sake of his own sanity. In his anxiety-addled brain, Eponine made it out here with Cosette, so maybe, just maybe, this town would be kind to him too.

“I would never ask that of you. I am here to make amends, of course, but I didn’t expect it to be an easy road.” Enjolras sighed. “I needed a change and I saw this house for sale in your town--it was for next to nothing really--and I had enough savings. God knows I haven’t spent a dime since I started working. So I bought it, packed my bag, and drove here.”

Eponine was stunned into silence for the second time that morning, living in the middle of nowhere with a wife and a kid must have lowered her guard. She stuttered, “No. Not the Davis’ farmhouse?”

“....One and the same.”

“Enjolras!” She exclaimed, horrified. “No one’s lived there for ten years. People said it’s haunted and I’m pretty sure the roof would cave if it snows one more inch this year.”

“I didn’t see any ghost last night?”

“You _stayed_ there last night? Does the heating even work?”

Enjolras rubbed his neck, feeling more chastised by the minute. “No, and neither does the electricity. Do you know an electrician? I think that’s the first order of business today.”

“Oh my God. Did you tell Combeferre any of this? Are you fit to be alone? I have a five-year-old girl and a teenager in this house, I can’t be tasked with keeping you alive.”

“I can take care of myself!” Enjolras protested.

“Have you ever changed a lightbulb you loon?” 

“I plead the fifth.”

That earned him a startled laugh from Eponine. Their road to reconciliation would take time, but Enjolras was willing to put in the work. And if there was anything he had in abundance now, it was time.

Eponine shook her head, seemingly admitting defeat, and told Enjolras to follow her. One of her clients was an electrician and she could ask him to stop by Enjolras’ house as an urgent favor.

“Do electricians need a business manager?” Enjolras asked since Eponine was the best team manager their old firm ever had.

She barked out a laugh. “This town has a population of two thousand, give or take. No one needs a business manager here. I’m a freelance accountant now.”

‘What? I thought you hated your degree. Isn’t it a bit of a downgrade to go back to accounting?”

The glare Eponine shot him could freeze a firing squad. She huffed and replied without looking at him. “That has always been a fundamental difference between you and me. I do whatever I need to do to be useful where I am. You do what you think you must for the future.”

He pondered at that thought on the way back downtown. She led him to a parade of shops and stopped in front of a hardware store. She introduced him to the owner, a helpful man with flaming red hair named Feuilly. He supplied Enjolras with various basic tools for fixing up a house and promised to stop by the day after tomorrow to assess the real work. 

Enjolras paled. “Is there any way you could stop by earlier? I don’t even have electricity and that is sort of important to me?”

Feuilly scratched his head, looking pained. “I really wish I could, but I have to fix a few boilers in the nursing home the next town over. The elderly aren’t very good with the cold, you know? I could ask a guy that works for me part-time if he could do it though? He hasn’t done a lot of electrician work for me, but he’s licensed and he can fix anything not too complicated.”

“Oh that’s great! Thank you so much, it’s the old Davis-”

“Farmhouse, I know. You caused quite a stir lighting the fireplace last night. The pastor was called for an exorcism and we don’t even have a Catholic church in the hundred-mile’ radius.”

*

Enjolras was swearing profusely at one of the drafty windows. It was somehow stuck and loose at the same time. What the hell. 

“Doing well, Chip?” An amused voice sounded from his driveway.

“Hi?” Enjolras replied, confused. “My name isn’t Chip, are you lost?” 

The man startled a laugh. “I don’t know if I should envy or pity you for the lack of Chip and Joanna Gaines knowledge. Fixer Upper? HGTV? _Shiplap?_ ”

If anything, the elaboration just confused Enjolras even more. “Are you alright?” He asked again before extricating himself from the cursed window and made his way to the man. The toolbox he carried at least cleared things up.

“Oh, you are the electrician!” Enjolras barely restrained himself from jumping for joy. Let there be light, indeed. With a closer look though, the man was strangely familiar. A combination of unruly dark curls, warm brown eyes as big as saucers and small quirk at the mouth was something he definitely had seen before.

“Aren’t you a school teacher? Didn’t we meet this morning?”

“I wouldn’t call that a meet, Chip. You made loud incoherent noises in front of my classroom and then left. Let’s fix that. I’m Grantaire, by the way,” he said, extending his gloved hand to Enjolras.

“Enjolras, pleased to officially meet you. I’m really sorry about this morning. I didn’t mean to disturb your class.”

The smaller man gave Enjolras a real smile and he was taken aback for a few seconds. The smile lit up his already rather attractive features and revealed how young he actually was. The tip of his nose and his cheeks were red from the cold and Enjolras had an unnatural urge to swaddle him in a blanket to warm him up.

“It’s alright, I can’t imagine Eponine giving you much choice in the matter,” Grantaire said before marching up ahead of Enjolras. “Feuilly said you couldn’t get the electricity to work?”

Enjolras followed him, silently wondering why he wasn’t taking the lead in his own house. “No, and the owner told me it should still work, so maybe there’s a faulty wire somewhere. Are you officially a teacher or an electrician in this town?”

Grantaire chuckled. “I could never settle on one skillset, so here I am, Lord of Mediocrity and no expertise. Handy in a small town though.”

“Well, I have a law degree and zero practical survival skills, so would you be interested in a trade?”

“Is that how it works? Would you like me to sign a contract in blood too? Oooh, can I have your hair for twenty four years as a part of the deal? I’ve always wanted to know if blondes really do have more fun,” Grantaire replied easily. “Have you checked the fuse box?”

The abrupt subject change took Enjolras by surprise. “No? Where is that anyway?”

Grantaire’s eyes widen considerably. He led Enjolras inside, took a back stairway from the kitchen that apparently led to the basement. The dusty basement contained an prehistoric boiler and a few dusty pieces of equipment. Grantaire pointed at them and started explaining things to Enjolras.

“Here’s an oil tank. I’ll take a look at it after I check your wire to see if it’s safe to use. Here’s the fuse box, it’s basically the central hub of your house's electrical system, but it’s an ancient tech at this point. You might want to turn this into an electrical panel anyway. For now, I’ll use this test light to see if you are getting any electricity here.”

Grantaire produced a thermometer-looking thing from his toolbox and plugged it into one of the sockets in the box.

“Hmm,” he hummed thoughtfully before twisting the knobs to one side. “Can you flick that switch for me?” He used his flashlight to point at a switch.

The light came on immediately.

“What? That’s it?” Enjolras looked at the newly illuminated room, confused.

Grantaire was shaking from obviously trying to contain his laughter. “Yes, you basically could have fixed it yourself by turning on the main switch here.”

Enjolras was mortified. He had called an electrician to a house he intended to fix up himself because he couldn’t turn on the main switch.

“Oh Chip,” Grantaire said with a wide grin. “I cannot wait to watch you attempt to fix this house.”

*


	2. Chapter 2

Over the last few days, Enjolras might or might not have looked up how to strip rotten wood on wikihow. The site had detailed instructions and pictures, okay? He also might or might not have gotten Grantaire’s number and texted him all hours of the day with the most inane construction problems. He found Grantaire witty and knowledgeable. The man toed a perfect line between Socratic banter and straight up trolling. 

Feuilly had also stopped by with his contractor, Bahorel, to assess any immediate repairs needed. They concluded that there weren’t any faulty wires (fortunate), but the fuse box should probably be upgraded into something more twenty-first century (less lucky, more costly). The overall structure of the house was deemed somewhat habitable, but there was a patch of dry rot near the back and a few leaky spots on the roof that should be tackled as soon as possible. The rest of the house just needed a little bit of TLC, Bahorel said. A fresh coat of paint and wood varnish would go a long way.

The main problem, however, was the heating oil tank. Old houses - and most houses in Darlington - still used old fashioned oil tanks as central heating, as opposed to the electronics one commonly found in cities. There was a leak on the ancient tank and it wouldn’t be safe to use until the tank was replaced. They called a few places and one company promised to install a replacement within a week. This meant Enjolras had to really make sure the fireplace, which was the only source of heating in the house, was not a fire or carbon monoxide hazard. Feuilly and Bahorel didn’t have an official chimney sweeper (“This is is West Virginia, not Edwardian London, man.”). 

That was how Enjolras ended up with a huge roll of tarpaulin, a vacuum cleaner, a step ladder, and a chimney brush (?). He had perhaps bought half of Feuilly’s inventory so the man threw in a free dust mask and goggles for Enjolras as well. He put all of them on, feeling ridiculous as he wrapped himself in a makeshift poncho fashioned from a trash bag.

He was laying the tarp on the floor when he heard a laugh and spun round to see if the house was actually haunted.

“Looking good there, Chip, did you find ET in the garage?” Grantaire said, leaning on the door frame.

Enjolras scrambled for some dignity, but couldn’t find any, so he just gave up and took off his dust mask to answer Grantaire. “Hi! I’m cleaning the fireplace and Bahorel assured me this was what people wear when they do this?”

Grantaire giggled even more, but he nodded fervently. “Yes, do listen to Bahorel about appropriate workwear, he never disappoints.” 

He walked over to inspect Enjolras’ set up and nodded, apparently satisfied. Enjolras tried not to beam. “If you want, I can use my industrial flashlight from the car to help you see better? You won’t just be sweeping blindly that way.”

“That’d be great. Mine is tiny and I swear Feuilly didn’t even charge me for it,” Enjolras said while following Grantaire outside. “By the way, not that this isn’t a pleasant surprise, but did you need anything?”

“Oh, it’s you that needed something,” Grantaire replied. “Ta-da!” He made a jazz hand motion towards a pile of logs in the back of his truck. “My house is tiny and I have central heating so my fireplace is for purely aesthetic reasons, really. Bahorel told me you wouldn’t get proper heating for a few days so I figured you needed these more than me.”

Enjolras was grateful. It didn’t even occur to him that he would have to get more firewood in the next few days, even though his stock was dwindling at an alarming rate. People in Darlington had been very kind to him, despite their skepticism of a city boy appearing among one of their oldest abandoned real estates. Yesterday, an old lady who lived ten minutes walk away brought him tuna casserole and he nearly cried because he couldn’t remember the last time he had had a homemade meal.

“Thank you so much. That is so thoughtful of you,” he said, rubbing his neck. “I don’t think I would have survived the last few nights without the charity of the people here.” 

He helped Grantaire move the logs into his storage and Grantaire taught him how to stack them properly. Apparently, there was a wrong way to do that. “Inefficient maybe, but not wrong!” —“No, Chip, you’re just wrong.”

Enjolras finally figured out that he wanted to pack the wood as tightly as possible, moving the smaller pieces to fill any gaps and empty slots. That way, Grantaire told him, he could take any of them out without worrying about total collapse causing death by a pile of firewood. It wouldn’t exactly be the worst way to go, but it would still be embarrassing. 

“Death by fireplace explosion is just a lot cooler than getting crushed by a pile of wood, you know?” Grantaire quipped.

“What about tetanus by way of getting stabbed with rusty nails?” 

“Ooh that is a hard one. Depending on how gruesome the cut is. If it’s a tiny one then you should be ashamed of your death. If it’s a big disgusting gash though, that’s a blaze of glory.”

“Is…that a fucking pun? A cutting pun?”

‘Hey! Only one of us is allowed to make puns during any given conversation. It’s too sad if both of us do it at the same time,” Grantaire said while tossing Enjolras the final two logs.

Enjolras dutifully put them away and stepped back to admire his handiwork. They only spent about fifteen minutes putting the firewood away, but it was a new skill he now had. It was a simple job well done, and it was oddly satisfying to see tangible fruits of his labor.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve done that before.”

Grantaire snorted. “What? Putting logs away?”

“Yeah, I’ve always lived in the city and my parents didn’t like to vacation in the country. I’ve been camping maybe twice, maybe? I’m starting to think I’ve been missing out.”

Grantaire looked at Enjolras thoughtfully, but his tone was light when he picked the conversation back up, “Well if it’s new skills you are after, I think it’s about time we see if you have what it takes to be Darlington’s official chimney sweeper.”

Enjolras did not have what it takes to be Darlington’s official chimney sweeper.

Within the first five minutes, his goggles were covered in soot and dust. It was clear no one had cleaned the fireplace for a long time and Enjolras was now paying for it. Grantaire tried to help, but he didn’t want to sacrifice his eyesight in the process. Plus, his dust mask was just his scarf wrapped loosely around his face, so Enjolras made him set the flashlights on the floor while he coaxed layers of cinder out. Grantaire eventually settled on vacuuming while Enjolras worked so the room could still be salvaged, since it doubled as Enjolras’ bedroom for the time being.

The house was still freezing cold, but the work left them heaving and sweating. Eventually, the last bit of soot was cleared away and the fireplace could be lit once again.

“Oh my God. How can I be shivering and sweating at the same time,” Enjolras complained while taking off his gloves and sitting down in front of the fire.

He’d accumulated a few necessities in the span of four days in town. He’d bought a used pull out couch and a coffee table from one of Eponine’s neighbors then promptly put them as close to the fire as possible without risking a burning house. Grantaire helped him move the furniture back after the cleanup was done.

They both collapsed on the couch afterward and Enjolras didn’t think he could ever get up again, except common decency dictated that he should offer Grantaire some refreshments.

“I’m such an asshole! You helped me out for over an hour and I didn’t even think to offer you water!” Enjolras exclaimed, mortified. 

Grantaire just laughed good-naturedly. “I have been snacking on the snow, don’t worry.”

Enjolras nearly wailed while rushing out to get some water. He heated some for hot chocolate too, what the hell. He fetched a couple of beers and handed one to Grantaire, who shook his head with a small smile.

“I’ll stick to water actually, two years sober here.” 

Enjolras couldn’t seem to get anything right today. He stumbled to apologize and Grantaire waved him off, unconcerned.

“It’s alright, it is not something people advertize, you know? I am used to turning down a drink. It’s worse when they put bourbon in hot chocolate without telling you. It’s a specialty around this time too.”

“But it shouldn’t be. Please don’t excuse my behavior, I shouldn't have assumed before offering you any alcohol. That should be the norm and I’ll be better next time,” Enjolras replied.

Grantaire gave him a genuine smile. “That’s all anyone could ask of you.”

Enjolras excused himself to finish the hot chocolate, much to Grantaire’s raised eyebrows. (“Nothing else but chocolate I promise!”) He added the pink heart-shaped marshmallow courtesy of Noelle and brought them out again, watching Grantaire from the doorway.

He looked like something from a storybook. Lit by the glow of the fire and the beginning of twilight at four in the evening. Grantaire was buried in a thousand layers of blankets on Enjolras couch, scribbling something into a small notebook. His eyelashes cast a long shadow on his lightly stubbled cheeks. He chewed his bottom lip in concentration and Enjolras caught himself wondering what Grantaire was thinking of. Grantaire did him the kindness of not asking about why Enjolras had decided to move to their backwater town and Enjolras was not so tactless as to inquire about the man’s past unprompted, even when he yearned to know more.

Grantaire heard him approach and looked up, giving him a dazzling smile. “Look, I made you your first mantelpiece decor.” He proudly held up a quick sketch of Enjolras in a beekeeping suit, one hand holding a broom with the other holding a log. 

Enjolras snorted a laugh. It was actually really good. The doodle had Enjolras’ hair going wide like a mad scientist and he looked to be right on the verge of either tears or ecstasy. It was perfect. “I didn’t know you could draw. Thank you so much, I’ll frame this!”

“What? No, don’t frame it.” It was Grantaire’s turn to bite back a laugh. “It’s just a doodle, I’ll paint you a proper picture if you want.” 

“No, this is amazing. It looks so much like me it’s basically a portrait!” 

They both lost it at that and once they started laughing they couldn’t stop. Enjolras nearly spilled the hot chocolate and Grantaire choked on it trying to stop shaking. They were both pleasantly exhausted from physical work and mirth came easily after that. Enjolras marveled at the difference having another person in the house could make, with regards to the overall temperature, of course. 

“Seriously, what couldn’t you do?” Enjolras repeated.

“Ha, Jack of all trades, remember? I like learning, but I just don’t have enough conviction or the focus needed to perfect anything. I dabble, but I like the result so far.” He winked. “Speaking of which, I have to go and try to make kindergarteners attempt a ballet for our Muppet Christmas Carol in two weeks. Pray for me.”

“Wait, you are teaching Noelle’s class ballet? You really can do everything!” Enjolras was going to have a quarter(ish) life crisis. How was it possible that everyone in this town was so much more capable than him? “And thank you? I think? You are responsible for granting me two hours with Eponine and Cosette tonight.”

Enjolras had been seeing either Eponine or Cosette once or twice a day. They had been taking him around town to help him get his bearings. Cosette was one of Enjolras’ college friends and he introduced them when he met Eponine at his old job. Cosette was also a lot more forgiving than her other half, but she knew that Eponine and Enjolras had to mend what was broken by themselves and she wisely refused to get involved.

“Oh yeah, they mentioned that. I’ll drop Noelle off around eight then. Please get all your shouting out of the way before our scheduled arrival,” Grantaire said with a grin.

“Oh, God. No shouting, I promise. As if anyone could shout in front of Cosette.” That earned him a laugh. “Do you deliver all the students to their parents after rehearsal? Wouldn’t that take forever?”

Grantaire shook his head. “No, I only do it when the parents can't make it, or for Eponine, really, but we go ways back.”

“How far back? I worked with her for four years and I don’t think we’ve met?” Enjolras asked while getting up to walk Grantaire out.

“Oh, I guess not. We grew up together, maybe seventy miles from here? Even further in the mountain, real mining town if you could believe it,“ Grantaire replied before looking around one last time to make sure he didn’t forget anything. 

Grantaire headed out and Enjolras went to take a shower to get rid of the layers of dust that settled on every crevice of his body. Thank goodness the boiler still worked, otherwise Enjolras would just have to shower at Eponine’s and abandon any pretense of pride altogether. 

He stopped by a small farm stand and grabbed a bottle of wine on the way. This dinner would be the first time since that fateful morning that Enjolras would see Cosette and Eponine without Noelle around. Enjolras had never spent much time with anyone’s children, but he found himself strangely enchanted by the little girl. Any child of Eponine and Cosette was bound to be outspoken and kind, but Noelle was also inquisitive and charming. She made Enjolras sit down and watch her stuffed animals act out her play about woodland creatures' quests. She made snow people and gave them all pets because everyone needed a friend. She dressed up her cat in an elf costume and proudly declared herself an elf union leader. Enjolras was pleasantly distracted every time Eponine and Cosette shamelessly made him babysit for free, but he couldn’t find it in himself to mind. It was lovely to find such a pure, simplistic joy radiated out of a child so assured of her place in the world.

He made his way to their house and was greeted with a version of Gavroche that was nearly as tall as him.

“Gav? How are you an adult already?” You were four-foot-tall yesterday!” Enjolras exclaimed, while awkwardly shaking the boy’s hand. He saw Gavroche sporadically at best when he was working with Eponine, but he did not expect to see a young man in place of a tiny agent of chaos in his head. 

The kid grinned, “Hey Enj, you got older and shorter. Try not to talk about work too much here okay? ‘Ponine is getting scary.”

This was familiar ground. “Isn’t she always?”

“You know it,” Gavroche said as he left the house with a wave. 

Enjolras shook his head. One reliable thing in all of this was apparently Gavroche’s ability to unsettle him, which was oddly comforting. Walking into the door, he announced his presence and was instructed to proceed to the kitchen.

It felt like an intrusion, even though he was invited. Cosette was stirring something in the pot and Eponine wrapped her arms around her, chin resting on Cosette’s shoulder. She was tasting whatever was in the pot and she smiled at Cosette, her expression achingly soft. And it hit Enjolras. All the cruel words he had uttered when he found out that Eponine was quitting her job to focus on raising a family came rushing back to him. He’d insulted her values, claiming they were outdated and dangerous for women everywhere. He couldn’t fathom wanting a family and nothing else. Here he was, all alone, looking into a simple domestic scene, untainted with bitterness or pride. And it hit him. Eponine was happy. She had always worn her hard exterior like an armor. He could count on one hand the amount of times he’d heard her laughter at work. He used to admire her ruthless efficiency, but now he knew better. She was tough because she had to be to get by. Here, under the quiet protection of her own home, Eponine was loved unconditionally, and she was free.

He stood there long enough for the couple to notice him. Cosette came flying in for a hug, before making him sit down and accept a glass of mulled cider.

“We’ll give you a dry one after this first glass. I made extra for R anyway,” she said while Eponine pulled some freshly baked biscuits that smelled divine out of the oven. 

Enjolras sipped the cider; it was excellent. “You guys seem to know Grantaire pretty well. How come he never visited while you were in D.C.”

Eponine sighed and gave him a guarded look. “Why do you care? You met him four days ago.”

Enjolras was taken aback. The level of sharpness seemed unwarranted. “I was just making conversation. He stopped by to give me some firewood today and we got to talking. I thought he was really nice.”

Cosette and Eponine exchanged a quick look that Enjolras couldn’t quite discern. Eponine replied again, slightly softer. “Yes, sorry, he was my oldest friend and I am a little protective of him. He had a few bad years in New York, but it’s all good now.”

“He lived in New York?” Enjolras didn’t consider that Grantaire might have moved away from his small town at some point. He’d just assumed Grantaire had moved from his very small hometown to a slightly less small current town.

“Yeah, he went to Tisch on a scholarship, but not everyone is cut out for a city life.” Eponine’s tone was final and Enjolras knew he had to stop prodding despite a thousand other questions. He wanted to know what Grantaire was like as a college student. What drove him from New York? What made him pick a school’s ballet and a toolbox over a glamorous career in the limelight?

Enjolras let the subject drop and Cosette began loading their bowls with turkey chili. They passed the meal catching up on stories of their college friends (Montparnasse still hadn’t been arrested, who’d have guessed!). They had butterscotch pudding for dessert and Enjolras nearly sobbed with gratitude when Cosette packed him two extra servings of everything. 

Eight o’clock was approaching and he wanted more than anything to leave the house on a high note, to look back on this night and just remember their easy smiles and warm cider. Instead, Enjolras made himself look at Eponine and Cosette again.

“I just want to say again how sorry I am for how we parted. I can see now how your choices were the right one, and even if they weren’t, it was not my place to even have an opinion on it.” He directed the next part to Cosette, “I hope you can forgive me one day.”

Cosette got up to hug him; she’d always given out the best hugs. “Oh honey, I was never angry with you. What you said was never about us. It was your worst fear and you were acting out.”

Somehow, Cosette’s gentle forgiveness and pity were even worse than Eponine’s initial distance. Enjolras felt raw. He didn’t know how transparent he was back when he was burning himself out. He felt the beginning of tears welling up in his eyes, thankfully, Eponine had no time for sentimental moments.

“Well, I was,” Eponine said with a sardonic smile. This was actually a lot scarier than her initial yelling. This is Eponine with a plan and her plan had never ended well for Enjolras. “You can continue to make amends, by looking over this adoption file.”

She slid a thick manila folder toward him and Enjolras recoiled.

“I can’t. I didn’t take the bar exam here, I’m not authorized to practice.”

“When has that ever stopped you before?” Eponine challenged.

“I can’t. I could go to jail for giving out legal advice here.” Enjolras was shaking from head to toe. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t bear to disappoint more people with his incompetence. His degree was useless. He was useless. He knew he was spiraling. The ringing in his ears was enough of a warning. 

Cosette gently took the folder away. “Hey, how about this. You give yourself a few days to think about it. Look into West Virginia bar admission requirements and see how you feel? Can you do that, one step at a time?”

Enjolras felt a little calmer. He could do that, just take time to think of an excuse and find a law school classmate in the state to take this case. Yes, he could definitely do that.

He was glad to feel somewhat normal again because not a minute later, they were hit with a storm that was Grantaire and Noelle. Apparently, the rehearsal went well and no one cried for the first time in two weeks, which meant both Noelle and Grantaire were successful in their respective endeavors.

Cosette handed Grantaire a huge thermos filled with her famous cider and Enjolras offered to walk out with him, much to Eponine’s eye-rolling that he pretended not to see.

“Are you okay, Chip? You look a little pale,” Grantaire asked. “Most people leave the lovebirds’ house a hundred pounds lighter, figuratively, and five pounds heavier, literally.” 

Enjolras laughed a little, but the lingering sense of panic still overwhelmed him. His breathing got a lot shorter and Grantaire obviously noticed. He gestured for them to sit down at a freezing cold bench outside.

“Hey, just breathe with me, ok? In, hold in for three seconds, out. Let’s do it again,” Grantaire instructed while rubbing soothing circles on Enjolras’ back. Enjolras let out a small sob, but he felt steady enough to start talking.

“They want me to help someone--and I really would. The old me would jump at the chance, but I just don’t know anymore. I was trying to save the world and I couldn’t even get a project for fifty people to take off--I just couldn't do it. I wasn’t good enough.” 

Enjolras didn’t know why he picked this near stranger to bear his soul to, but he couldn’t hold it in just then. He was going to explode if no one else in this town understood how precisely worthless he was. He braced himself for a chastising he knew he would have given had the roles been reversed. It was unfathomable to think that someone capable of helping anyone would simply ignore the request.

“Then don’t do it.” 

“What?”

“You said you can’t, right? So, don’t even consider it. The discussion is over the moment you realize you won’t be able to help. Stop thinking about it,” Grantaire elaborated, palm still pressed on Enjolras’ back.

“It is not that simple. I could contribute to someone’s happiness and --”

“No,” Grantaire said firmly. “I don’t know you very well, but I recognize someone on the brink of an avalanche when I see one. You are barely holding it together. You need to learn to forgive yourself for not being able to do something. We are not all superheroes, Enjolras. It matters that you are being a happy and kind member of society. There are values in just maintaining orders and making things around you better, with or without making the news. You are fixing your house, right? You are improving that abandoned building. You are helping small businesses and contractors by buying their supplies and hiring them. Cultivating your garden is not saving the world, but it is not nothing.”

Enjolras blinked and felt his panic slowly retreating away. “And if in a few days, I feel up to it, I can always call Eponine.”

“Yes, as long as you are up for it.” Grantaire nodded and smiled encouragingly.

“Maybe after the heater’s fixed.”

Grantaire’s laughter rang out in the quiet of the night, slowly replacing the negative thoughts on Enjolras’ mind. He didn’t realize until he got home that the conversation on the bench was the first time Grantaire had used his actual name. 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you buried in a blanket fort drinking tea and listening to Evermore? Yeah me neither.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much like everything else in my life, I no longer have any control over this fic.

It’s too damn cold. Even with the promise of a new oil tank and five different blankets and quilts (so many quilts! His neighbors love quilting). There were two days left until the promised oil tank would arrive and Enjolras was slightly concerned that he would actually turn into a popsicle before he could see what an oil tank actually looked like. It was two in the morning and he could see the cloud of his breath in front of him. On one hand, he was too cold to get out of his blanket fortress, but on the other, he might die if he didn’t relight the fire.

With an extremely mature and not at all pathetic whine, Enjolras got up and took care of the fireplace. Glorious light and heat flooded the space once more and he gratefully burrowed himself back under the pile of blankets. Wide awake, he took stock of his current situation. The kitchen didn’t need actual fixing—some appliance upgrades wouldn’t go amiss—but they were all currently in working condition. He’d bought enough white paint to cover the whole town according to Feuilly, but Enjolras just knew he was going to mess up painting a house somehow. He’d decided on red for the roof, despite Eponine’s merciless taunt on his penchant for the color. With Grantaire’s help, he chose a muted green for his kitchen cabinet and they were planning on painting them together within the next few days. After that, Enjolras mainly needed to furnish the place so it looked like there’s someone living there, as opposed to stopping by. He had been in Darlington and in this house for all of twelve days and he was becoming a tiny bit attached to it. The only thing, besides the heating, was the rooftop on the north side of the house. He would need to fix up this area as soon as possible so the roof didn’t collapse and cost him half of his savings. Grantaire had brought him enough firewood to last him all winter if needs must, but even with the supply, he didn’t think the house could withstand an open roof.

Grantaire’d also stopped by yesterday to teach Enjolras the basics of priming surfaces for painting and dropped off his mom’s leftover tom kha gai soup. They ended up eating it together on the couch and Enjolras had offered to become Grantaire’s stepfather just for the food alone. 

_“Oh God, please don’t say that ever again. My mom is nearly sixty!” Grantaire replied between pounding his chest to release a stray mushroom he’d been choking on._

_“Hey, marriages are built on less, I could totally be your new dad.”_

_“Please stop.”_

_“Daddy?”_

_“Leaving my house this evening was a mistake,” Grantaire said while making a show of covering his ears, but he was also smiling up at Enjolras with a slight blush on his cheeks._

He was gorgeous. Golden skin with big, expressive eyes and thick browns. He had full lips that were nearly permanently turned into an easy smile. His dark hair settled perfectly into little loose curls and each strand looked so fine, Enjolras had to consciously stop himself from reaching out to touch. They had somehow settled into a sort of routine. Enjolras would ask Grantaire for help with his restoration project and Grantaire would show up after school, provide his labor and commentary, make fun of Enjolras, and refuse to accept any source of payment besides hot beverages. 

For the first time in his life, Enjolras was perfectly happy to let things progress on their own. He liked spending his time looking at Grantaire, slowly getting to know the man a little bit better here and there. Grantaire was a gentle presence around his house. He took great care of every little thing he touched and Enjolras found himself occasionally mesmerized by the graceful way his hands moved or how he bit his lips in concentration.

Grantaire had caught him staring a few times, but he was kind enough to quickly turn away with a small smile. Enjolras was somewhat gratified when he realized that Grantaire wouldn’t have caught his gaze unless the man himself was _also_ looking at Enjolras. 

They had not been on an official date, but Enjolras was somewhat certain in his ability to read the room. There was no need to sit down and get to know each other when they could do that while replacing rotten wood or painting window frames. In the quiet of the house, the world was theirs. Each moment a pocket of endless possibility, and they were free to hum, talk, and argue to their hearts’ content.

Grantaire was due to come over with Bahorel tomorrow to fix the roof, and with that comforting thought, Enjolras drifted back to sleep.

*

The fire went out again a few hours later and Enjolras had had enough. He dressed quickly, drove to Eponine and Cosette’s to volunteer to take Noelle to school in exchange for a hot meal. Grantaire, in the faithful panda beanie, waved at them merrily and ushered Noelle in. Enjolras stood there, grinning at him like an idiot while other people dropped their children off. The kids monopolized Grantaire and after a few minutes of the teacher mouthing sorry to him while trying to juggle three small humans at the same time, Enjolras gave up on saying hello and nodded toward Eponine’s in a silent goodbye instead. 

When he got back to their breakfast bar. Eponine had already left for work and Cosette graciously loaded his bowl with oatmeal and stewed apples. He thanked her sincerely and gulped down his coffee for extra warmth before he couldn’t stop himself and let out a massive yawn. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be getting the full eight hours now that you aren’t working?” Cosette asked.

Enjolras suppressed another yawn. “It’s the sub-zero temperature. I kept waking up in the middle of the night to light the fireplace when it goes off. It’s a pain, but I only have two more days until the oil tank arrives though.”

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry, we didn’t think of this!” Cosette exclaimed before disappearing into the basement. She emerged a few minutes later, holding a space heater. “I totally forgot we had this! The radiator broke in Eponine’s office last year. We should have given it to you before.”

Enjolras was nothing but grateful. Now he could actually get dressed in the bedroom instead of the bathroom. He left Cosette on a high note, looking forward to more warmth in the house and a fixed roof later that evening. 

It was slightly embarrassing, but he was mostly excited to finally have a proper bath. Enjolras liked orders. He liked routine, as dull as that sounded. He indulged in self-care when he had the time and allowed himself to be slightly vain about his appearance. It had gotten worse lately since Grantaire had made such a big deal about liking his hair. It made Enjolras self-conscious. Here in West Virginia, he was always covered in dust and grime, whenever he had the chance to clean up, he wanted to do a good job.

He filled the bathtub with hot water and epsom salt. It smelled like peppermint and lavender and Enjolras felt a lot better even before stepping in. He took his time relaxing, marveling at the effect the hot bath had on his shoulders and back. He could have sworn he had grown more muscle mass in the twelve days he had been in Darling than his entire two years of gym membership back in the city. On one hand, he was physically exhausted every single night and he had not had any nightmares since he’d moved here. On the other, he was forever sore and had forgotten what life was like without aching arms.

The rapidly decreasing temperature of the bathwater forced him out. He went to the bedroom, where the space heater was giving out luxurious warmth, grabbed a hair dryer, and turned it on.

All the lightbulbs in his house promptly went out.

All street lights he could see also went _out_.

He heard shouting from the distance and Enjolras debated barricading himself in the house lest he faces the same destiny as Frankenstein's monster. Chancing a quick look for pitchforks and torches, not finding any, he quickly dressed and went down to the basement to check his fuse box. Sure enough, the fuse was blown. Enjolras fought the urge to wail when he heard a knock.

Scrambling out of the darkness of the basement, Enjolras went to answer the door.

“Hello, my name is Javert, from the Sheriff's office. I don’t believe we’ve met,” said a middle-aged man in a blue uniform, extending his right hand in greeting.

Enjolras shook his hand. “No, I don’t think so. I’m Enjolras. I bought this house a few weeks ago and just moved in last week.”

Javert smiled and nodded approvingly. “It is nice to see empty houses occupied, fewer disputes and crimes that way. Now tell me, Mr. Enjolras, do you happen to know anything about the current blackout on your street?”

“I may or may not have been using the hair dryer right before all the lights went out?” Enjolras replied sheepishly.

Javert rubbed his eyes. “Do you have anyone else helping you with this house? It is a big project, especially for people who don’t know what they are doing.”

Enjolras opened his mouth to argue, yesterday he’d sanded and painted all the window frames all by himself, and even Grantaire said he did a good job, but the evidence seemed to support Javert’s assessment so he just nodded and mentioned Feuilly and Bahorel. 

Javert seemed satisfied with the answer. He assured Enjolras that the town and most people here have replacement fuses lying around, so the blackout wouldn’t last very long, but he also mentioned the possibility of a fine and compensation should any of the neighbors need it. He promised to stop by every few days to help out with anything, but Enjolras could tell the man had no faith in him and wanted to make sure he didn’t set the house on fire by accident.

*

“You did what?” Grantaire and Bahorel were basically wheezing on the floor when Enjolras recounted the morning adventure. 

“I have been using a hair dryer every day since I was fourteen,” Enjolras muttered.

Grantaire made no effort to suppress a laugh. “Oh Chip, how many times have you used it next to another source of direct heat?”

Enjolras threw a paintbrush at him and Grantaire shrieked while catching it easily. He put it down and went to help Bahorel with moving the supplies out to fix the roof. 

Bahorel gave Enjolras a quick walkthrough of all the tools they needed and the three of them headed outside. Enjolras was tasked with carrying a ladder while Grantaire had an armful of brand new shingles. 

They started out by removing the old structure. Bahorel proclaimed the rest of the roof sound enough and had Enjolras passing him tools while Grantaire cut tar paper according to the specification. 

“Pass me the liquid nail, please”

Enjorlas looked around, confused. “I was under the impression that all nails are solid?”

Grantaire snorted and handed him a tube with “liquid nails” printed on the label. “It’s basically a super superglue for the roof. Waterproof and all that.”

Their fingers brushed and Enjolras was rewarded with a shy smile from Grantaire at the contact. Their touches had become slightly more deliberate in the last few days. A lingering hand here, a shoulder brush there. Enjolras willed himself not to grin too widely at the thought, to some debatable degree of success.

Bahorel accepted the tube Enjolras tossed him and said, “You know, a few of your neighbors were asking me about suing you for the fuse.”

Enjolras stared in disbelief and Bahorel burst out laughing. He took pity on them and continued, “They were kidding, of course. They knew I can’t draft them a complaint as minor as that, just because they thought it would be hilarious to have that over you.”

“Wait, what do you mean drafting a complaint?” Enjolras asked, handling a plier to Bahorel.

“Oh, I am the town's unofficial lawyer. I went to law school for like two years before flunking out. Legal documents are _really_ boring, you know?”

“What? Where? I went to law school too! How have you been giving out legal advice without an actual degree?” Enjolras looked at Grantaire, who shrugged since he obviously had no horse in the race.

Bahorel just chuckled. “I have never cared much for what the government tells me what I can and can’t do. There is no law firm within a fifty miles radius of here, but people still need to make their living and deal with bureaucracies, you know? So I would look over contracts and any applications that are incomprehensible to normal people. They don’t tell the authority where they got legal advice from, everyone wins.”

“Bahorel, that’s a felony if you are caught.”

“Oh well, I would say a misdemeanor at best? I technically give only regular advice, since I am not qualified to actually give the legal kind,” he said, tapping his temple with a finger before winking at Enjolras conspiratorially.

Enjolras was still sputtering in disbelief when Bahorel piped up again from the roof, “If it bothers you that much, you can have my job. Just transfer your bar here, West Virginia allows a Uniform Bar Exam, like the one in D.C., I think? It shouldn’t be too hard for you to qualify. God knows we need a proper lawyer here. Last year I couldn't stop an eviction from some evil property management company. That was the only time I genuinely regretted leaving law school.”

Enjolras saw Grantaire give him a searching look and he replied with a nod, wanting to assure both himself and Grantaire that he was okay. It was all okay.

*

The mythical oil tank finally arrived and Enjolras could weep with joy. His house was now completely hospitable. There was heat. There was light. And the roof was finally secured.

Crisis(es) over, he had more time to spend getting to know his new surroundings better. There was a winter market in town, scheduled to operate for the whole week until Christmas. The community positively vibrated with excitement since each town in the county took turns hosting the market each year. Darlington, therefore, had not hosted one in four years. On Friday, Enjolras volunteered to help Grantaire take Noelle to see the market since Eponine and Cosette planned to visit Cosette’s father, who was the mayor of a neighboring town.

The town square was gleaming with Christmas spirit; there were ice sculptures and Christmas lights dotted all over the place. The whole scene smelled like gingerbread and chocolate, so Enjolras picked Noelle up and made a run for the market just to get there a little bit faster. Grantaire was shouting at them to be careful of the sleet, but he was laughing and then trotted along to catch up with them. Enjolras couldn’t remember the last time he had visited any holiday markets. In college with Courfeyrac and Combeferre, perhaps? Noelle cooed at the snowman and patted the reindeer statues lovingly. She dragged Enjolras and Grantaire all over the place to look at all the colorful stalls, even the one selling knitting yarns because “they are so soft”. The trio spent twenty minutes decorating gingerbreads and Enjolras was somehow worse than a kindergartener at it.

“It’s alright uncle E,” Noelle said. “Mr. R lets us color every day, so I get more practice.” She patted his arm reassuringly.

“Maybe I should join your class next time you paint then?” Enjolras asked.

Noelle’s eyes widen with glee. “Yes, please! Please Mr. R, can uncle E come? He can sit with me and Lily at the front.”

Grantaire laughed and ruffled her hair. “Of course, uncle E can come, as long as he promises not to bring his hairdryer.”

“You are never gonna let this go, aren’t you?”

“Maybe in three to five business days, if you give me other materials,” he replied with a wink.

Noelle looked between the two of them, confusion written all over her small face. The scene around her, however, was more enticing than two grown-ups speaking in a cryptic language and she tucked them over to get in the line for Santa’s village.

She was suddenly shy when it was her turn to sit down and tell Father Christmas her wishes. Noelle hid behind Grantaire and shuffled her feet on the ground, looking at nothing but her boots.

The old man beckoned kindly, “It’s alright, young lady, your fathers can come too.”

Enjolras and Grantaire both started protesting incoherently, but the elves gave them a pointed look before gesturing at the long line of people behind them. At the same time, Noelle was close to tears, her lips quivering at her own uncharacteristic timidity. Not having Eponine and Cosette here must have been a little disconcerting for the little girl.

Enjolras made an executive decision and scooped Noelle up with one hand while tucking Grantaire along with the other. They got to Santa and Noelle brightened up considerably. She whispered something they couldn’t make out to Santa and he nodded enthusiastically before taking a picture with them. Enjolras and Grantaire were given a pair of reindeer antlers as props while Noelle got a crown, the three of them smiling widely at the camera. 

Enjolras paid for two extra pictures and handed one to Grantaire. His smile was dazzling when he slotted it in his wallet and thanked Enjolras. It was definitely five dollars well spent. 

Noelle walked between the two of them, skipping up and down with every few steps, using their hands as leverage. She all but launched herself into the play area with pleading eyes and Enjolras and Grantaire sat down on a bench when she went inside to play with her friends.

“Do you realize you look really good in various animal headgears?”

“Come again?” Grantaire asked, confused.

“The first time I saw you, you had a panda beanie on and you are wearing antlers in this picture.” Enjolras nudged him with a shoulder. “They suit you.”

“Well, I teach kindergarteners, so it is only fair I share their sensibility,” Grantaire said with a laugh.

“Well, they are adorable. You are adorable,” Enjolras said while moving closer to inspect the slight blush creeping up on his neighbor’s cheeks. 

Grantaire held his gaze. “Why, yes, uncle E. You are not so bad yourself.” His honey-brown eyes reflected the brilliant lights surrounding them; Enjolras could get completely lost in them and thank him for it. He edged a little bit closer, breath by shaky breath, and Grantaire was tilting his face up to meet him halfway when a storm of curly brown hair barrelled itself into them.

“You are alive!” the storm screeched while Enjolras adjusted his grip.

“Courfeyrac! How did you know I would be here?” Enjolras said, standing up to spin his best friend around. 

“I called Eponine of course. Damn, this is some Hallmark Christmas shit, Enjolras. Is this why you haven’t been returning my calls?”

Enjolras laughed before hugging Courfeyrac a little tighter. He didn’t realize how much he missed his friend when he saw Grantaire and Noelle standing side by side, both looking at him quizzically.

“Oh, hey, Courfeyrac, these are my friends Grantaire and Noelle. Noelle, uncle Courf knows both of your mothers too. He went to college with one of them.”

“Hello,” Noelle said formally, visibly unsure of the newcomer. 

“Hi.” Grantaire waved with a wide smile that seemed slightly exaggerated. Enjolras rushed to introduce them properly.

“Courf, Grantaire has been a huge help with my fixer-upper project. Grantaire, Courf just drove all the way here from D.C. to make sure I wasn’t dead.”

Courfeyrac laughed merrily before replying. “That’s me. I am pretty sure he doesn’t actually eat unless I force him to, so not seeing him for two weeks did irreparable damage to my sanity. I was so sure I would find him buried under five layers of snow somewhere.”

“Oh, it was not for the lack of trying, I can assure you. Enjolras here did his best to live like a caveman before he started hiring contractors,” Grantaire replied easily. He grabbed his phone and typed out a quick text before turning back to them. “Eponine and Cosette are back, so I’ll take Noelle back and let you guys...catch up. It was nice meeting you Courfeyrac.”

Noelle gave them a shy wave goodbye and Enjolras busied himself with filling Courfeyrac in on his misadventures as a property owner.

They walked around the market, getting mulled wine and roasted chestnuts before Courfeyrac deemed it safe enough to shift into his concerned parent mode. 

“So, you are not coming back to D.C. with me tomorrow?”

Enjolras exhaled, he knew this was coming. He had run long enough and the sharp pain and bitter disappointment in his chest were reduced into a dull ache of various degrees. It was now manageable, in any case. 

“I don’t think so. I am breathing a lot better here. I need to figure out what to do for the rest of my life, yes. But right now, I’m happy just working on the house and getting by,” he said, tasting the sentiment on his tongue and was satisfied to realize that all of it was true. “You are staying with me tonight, right? I am actually really proud of what I’ve done here so far.”

Courfeyrac bounced up and down on his feet and gave an excited nod. “Yeah, I can see the appeal. You look well. Much better than you ever did in the last few months. It’s a beautiful place, with such beautiful people”— he paused for a dramatic effect. —“won’t you say?” 

Enjolras feigned ignorance. “Yeah, sure. Lots of people.”

“People I just met, perhaps?” Courfeyrac was like a bloodhound and he sniffed out Enjolras’ body language in seconds.

“Oh shut up,” Enjolras said while Courfeyrac hooted with self-satisfied laughter. They walked arm in arm back to Courfeyrac’s car. Enjolras rode over with Grantaire and he made a mental note to let the man know he got home alright, but Courfeyrac’s endless chatter and stories put that thought away from his mind.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My college roommate and I might or might not have caused a blackout in our building in Boston doing exactly what Enjolras did. If your Allston residence lost power one December morning a few years back, I'm sorry?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters today because it's nearly Christmas and I love you. Have a wonderful holiday if I don't show up before then!

Enjolras spent the next morning showing Courfeyrac around. They had a full blown Southern Breakfast of biscuits, sausages, and gravy in a cute family-run cafe with Cosette and Eponine. Courfeyrac then insisted on taking a short hike to a frozen creek near Enjolras’ house, for a full West Virginian experience. 

They took a brief break at the top of the hill and Enjolras let the unusual tranquillity wash over them. It was so quiet out here in the woods, far away from the hustle bustle of D.C. and even the little annoyances of fixing up his own house seemed a world away.

“I am thinking of applying for a bar here,” Enjolras said, breaking the unspoken truce of the moment.

Courfeyrac hummed in acknowledgment. He looked around the scene in front of them and picked up a snowball to throw into the creek. Enjolras joined him, starting a competition on who could throw them the furthest. After a few rounds, Courfeyrac turned back to Enjolras.

“It would be hard to leave a place like this. So yes, making yourself useful here sounds like a great plan,” he replied. “You can start small, turning your first floor into an office, I think. Just go from there, one step at a time. I know it was not in your five—year plan a few months ago, but people like you will find a way to contribute anyway. This could be good for you.”

People tend to think of Courfeyrac as the happy go lucky one in their group of friends, but his bubbly exterior often betrayed his compassion and insight. Enjolras released the breath he didn’t know he was holding while waiting for Courfeyrac’s approval and felt instantly steadier. They walked back to the house in silence, neither of them brought up the fact that Enjolras was making plans for a long stay instead of a sabbatical. 

Courfeyrac was also suitably impressed with Enjolras’ progress on his home improvement project and promised to bring Combeferre back when the guest room was completely furnished. He gave Enjolras a tight hug and his voice broke a little when they said their goodbyes.

“We were really worried, Enjolras. We saw you fall apart and we couldn’t do anything about it. Combeferre wasn’t even sure what I would find here, but this has been a lovely surprise. I know you couldn’t talk to us before, I really understand. But now that you are in a better place, please don’t think you need to push us away. We don’t think less of you for leaving _Future for All_. We are your friends first and everything else second.” He kissed Enjolras on the cheek. “Our love isn’t contingent on your accolades, you know that right?”

Enjolras felt something dislodge in his chest. He had never been anything but accomplished and he didn’t know who he was outside of that narrow identity. Deep down, he was scared of disappointing his best friends, but he was doing them a disservice. If he had anything to apologize for, it was his lack of faith in the strength of their love and loyalty.

“I know.” Enjolras nodded. “Thank you for coming here. I’ll do better, I promise.”

“Just take care of yourself. Or have the cute guy take care of you,” Courfeyrac said before ducking into the car too quickly for Enjolras to think of any good retort. 

Speaking of, Grantaire had been strangely quiet in the past eighteen hours. Granted, Enjolras forgot to tell him about getting home safe, and he might not want to intrude when Courfeyrac was here. He set out to remedy the situation and sent a quick text informing Grantaire accordingly and got a thumbs up emoji reply within minutes.

Enjolras was happy to get a response, but it left him with no other conversation starters, which was somewhat unusual for them. He was nothing if not determined, though; he filled Grantaire in on his plan to use the downstairs as his office and asked him about furnishing ideas for the room and was rewarded with pictures of a few sketches Grantaire had quickly drawn to show Enjolras some options. 

Enjolras decided that he would rather talk through it over the phone instead of cramping his fingers texting. Grantaire picked up after the fifth ring. 

“H..hello?” Grantaire greeted, sounding confused.

“The conversation was getting too long to type. I don’t understand the difference between blue and cerulean.”

Grantaire chuckled. “Well, cerulean is just a shade of blue, a lightish one? It literally means sky in Latin, so make of that what you will.”

“What? An actual explanation? No, Chip, you should sleep on a bed of straws as a penance for your ignorance?” Enjolras teased

“Ha. I can be educational occasionally. I am a teacher after all.”

“Oh, about that. Is it really okay if I stop by Noelle’s class sometimes?” 

A beat.

“Umm, yes, sure. We do have sign up sheets for parents to volunteer on days we are extra busy. You can ask Eponine and Cosette about theirs?” Grantaire replied.

“That sounds good. I just don’t want to overstep, but if you said it’s alright…”

“Yes, of course. We always welcome free labor around here. Hey, listen, I have to go——”

Enjolras cut him off quickly. “Right, sorry, I’ll let you go. We are still on for the kitchen cabinets tomorrow, right?

Another pause.

“Yeah, yes. See you there.”

*

The next day, instead of Grantaire. Enjolras found Gavroche on his doorstep, armed with a roller and a brush.

“Gav? What are you doing here?”

“R said you need a painter and I need pocket money. It’s fifteen an hour, by the way, painting’s a messy job,” Gavroche said while shouldering Enjolras out of the way, making for the kitchen, where tarps were already laid out to protect the floor.

Well, that didn’t help. “Yes, fifteen is fine. Thank you for coming, but if you don’t mind me asking, what happened to Grantaire?”

The kid gave a sly grin. “How would I know? You should ask him.”

As it turned out, painting cabinets was excruciating when you were doing it with a sarcastic teenager who thought of you as an ancient crone. They had to prime the surface, awkwardly wait for the primer to dry, then paint the first coat, and wait around again before the last coat could be added.

Enjolras got a few pop tarts out and handed one to Gavroche while they sat on the couch.

“Is this what you’ve been feeding R? That’s probably why he didn’t come.”

“Hey, the kitchen is not exactly ready for cooking right now. And he usually just has tea or hot chocolate”—Enjolras paused—”is that why he didn’t come? He’s sick of having to feed me too? He brought his mom’s soup the other day and—”

“Ok, I’m gonna stop you right there before you get too gross. R has a standing dinner date with his mom on Sunday, you can probably catch him before he leaves if you hurry.”

Enjolras was tempted to accept the offer, but he hesitated over the details. “I can’t just leave you to do all the work.”

“Tell you what, make it twenty-five an hour and I’ll clean up after I paint the last coat too.”

“Deal.” Enjolras extended his hand. Gavroche laughed, but they shook on it.

“Hey Gav,”

“Yeah?”

“No party or I’m telling Eponine.”

“You got old and boring, Enjolras.”

*

Enjolras changed out of his paint-covered sweater before he left the house and drove over to Grantaire’s. He had been at the house exactly once when he picked up a few tools Grantaire said he could borrow. As he was making a turn, he saw his target leaving the front door before he could stop the car, so Enjolras swerved to park atrociously before chasing after Grantaire.

“Grantaire! Wait!”

Grantaire nearly yelped. “Jesus Christ, Enjolras. Where did you come from? You are gonna give me a heart attack. Or I’d slip and fall and break my neck and I would have to come back and haunt you on principle.”

“I’m sorry.” Enjolras said between gulping for breath from his sprint earlier. “I am here to say that already, but I am sorry I startled you too.” 

“Sorry..for what? The other sorry I meant,” Grantaire asked with wide eyes. 

Enjolras took another fortifying breath. “I didn’t realize how much of a burden I was. Gavroche pointed it out that you have been doing so much for me and I could hardly begin to repay you. I’ll try not to bother you too much from now on and we can just hang out without having to work on the house. I mean I’ve only known you for two weeks, but you have become an invaluable friend.”

“What? No, you are not a burden, of course. I...like spending time with you,” Grantaire replied quickly, looking away from Enjolras.

Enjolras insisted on making his apologies. “But you never accepted any payment! And you even had to feed me. It felt like I have been taking advantage of your generosity. ”

“Oh my God, I have tons of leftovers each week. My mom cooks to feed a crowd.” He carded his fingers through his hair, looking up to the sky like he was asking for some kind of divine intervention. “Look, you’ve already walked this far, just come with me to dinner with my mom then. You’ll see, she’s always thrilled to have another mouth to feed.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose any more than I already did.”

Grantaire stopped short and put his hands on Enjolras’ shoulders. “Enjolras, listen carefully. You have not been imposing and if you ever do, I will just say it to your face. I invited you because I wanted you here. I drove to your house because I wanted to be there. Now, are we good?” 

And there it was again, his actual name. Enjolras began to like how it sounds coming from Grantaire. He nodded. “Okay, I’m excited to finally meet my future wife, then.”

“Jesus Christ. I changed my mind, get the fuck out of here.”

“Nope, no take-backs. You wanted me here, you told me yourself,” Enjolras said with a smirk.

“I am a man of contradictions. I am large, I contain multitudes.”

A laugh bubbled out of Enjolras. “You can’t Walt Whitman out of this.”

“Oh but I could just waltz off...”

“No.”

They were chatting lightly by the time they got to a beautiful red brick structure just right on the edge of the town center. Grantaire rang the doorbell and a petite Asian lady with an unmistakable air of authority answered the door with a smile.

“You are early today! And you brought a friend,” she said while hugging her son, who was at least two heads above her.

“Mom, Enjolras. Enjolras, mom. He’s new in town, so please be nice to him?” Grantaire said not meeting his mother’s eyes and stepping aside.

She pulled him into an enthusiastic hug too. If it was an effort for Grantaire to hug his mother, at five foot ten, Enjolras’ six foot two frame nearly had to bend in half to return the embrace. “Enjolras, huh? I’ve heard so much about you. It’s a pleasure to finally meet the man behind all those stories.”

“Oh no. Most of them are true, but they are really not that bad! Please let me defend myself tonight,” Enjolras said, shaking his head. “Mrs. Grantaire, it’s lovely to meet you. Your tom kha gai saved my life a few days ago.”

“Please, call me Margaret. I divorced Grantaire’s father fifteen years ago, so it is pretty bizarre to be addressed like that.”

Enjolras was mortified. He had made a blunder already and they were hardly through the front door. “I am so sorry, I should have realized. I could call you by your maiden name? What do your students call you at the community college?”

Mother and son exchanged an incredulous look and Grantaire giggled.

“Go on, give it to him,” he prompted.

“Sure, you can call me Dr. Hanananprasittara if you want.”

Enjolras froze. Caught between trying to pronounce the word and worrying that he would offend the duo if he got it wrong. “Dr...”

Grantaire and his mother both burst into a laugh. They had the same unguarded, open laughter, Enjolras noticed. 

“It’s alright, I’ll write it down for you, it’s easier when people see it on paper. How about Mrs. H for now? professor H and Margaret are what my students call me, by the way,” she said kindly while leading them down the corridor to the kitchen.

Grantaire tapped him on the shoulder. “It’s alright, Thai names are hard, man. I have a Gaelic first name, a Thai middle name, and a French last name. Obviously, my parents hate me. Of all three, the last one is pretty much the only pronounceable thing.”

“I’ll get it right though, if you write them down and teach me I’ll practice.”

Grantaire beamed, but he didn’t say anything more when they got to the kitchen. Mrs. H winked at them from the stove.

“So, Enjolras, what are your intentions toward Grantaire here?”

Enjolras nearly choked on the iced tea he was given and sputtered to reply when Grantaire cut in.

“There is no intention, mom, we are just friends.” He turned to Enjolras, “Ignore her, she’s always wanted to give a shovel talk. It’s her Napoleon complex.”

“It’s because I haven’t got a chance before. Grantaire had never brought anyone home for it.”

“That’s not true. Jehan was here just last week!” Grantaire replied, sounding slightly hysteric.

“You met Jehan when you were eight, dear. If they were ever a contender it would happen by now.” She turned to Enjolras and stage whispered, “He’s been single for two years, I think you have an excellent chance for a shovel talk.”

Grantaire was going beet red, his voice climbing at a much higher octave than usual. “God, mom, stop it. Enjolras isn’t interested. He has a boyfriend!”

Enjolras finally found his voice. “What? I don’t have a boyfriend. What made you say that?”

Grantaire went even redder if that was possible. His mom announced that she needed to borrow some sugar from the neighbors immediately and left the room with a wicked smile.

“Well, it’s just that you and Courfeyrac seemed very close, so I thought—”

Enjolras laughed. “Oh Lord, no. He’s like a brother to me. It would have been like incest, really.” He got up from his stool and went to stand in front of Grantaire. “And I _am_ interested, by the way.”

Grantaire swallowed thickly, throat bobbing in an apparent effort to formulate a reply. “You are?”

“I thought I made it obvious, but I guess I wasn't clear enough. Grantaire, would you go out with me if I promise to let your tiny mother threaten me with a wok?”

Grantaire smiled up at him, their noses almost brushing. “I mean, yes, obviously. But before we get there, can you enlighten me on why you now owe Gavroche three hundred and twenty-five dollars.” He held up his phone’s screen as evidence.

“Do I even want to know? Doesn’t matter, it was worth it.” Enjolras shook his head, an idea came to mind. “I believe I have been counting your visits to my house as a date since last week, so, the question is, do you kiss on your fifth-ish date?”

Grantaire laughed and laced his fingers behind Enjolras’ neck before stretching up to press his lips gently against Enjolras’. His lips were as soft as every part of him seemed to be and Enjolras finally got a chance to sink his hands in those irresistible curls. They were heavenly. Ninety-nine out of ten. Better than anything he had imagined. He pressed closer, deepening the kiss, letting his hands roam down Grantaire’s back and shoulders, unwilling to stop now that Grantaire had decided to let him.

“Ahem,” a cough sounded from the hallway. Both Grantaire and Enjolras jumped and moved away like teenagers caught making out at church. 

Mrs. H was there with her arms crossed, not even pretending to have a bowl of sugar. “Where were we on your intentions toward my son?” 

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey some dude released a proposed legislation that could be bad for ao3. It is mostly about the current “notice and takedown” system, where copyright owners submit infringement notices to online service providers with a “notice and stay down” provision. HOWEVER it could have a huge implication on fanworks, since it would "subject every upload to mandatory content filtering", according to Public Knowledge. If you are able, please get involve and keep up with the proposal [here](https://www.transformativeworks.org/u-s-copyright-news-otw-legal-and-you/) .


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey remember when I said this would be finished before 2021? Yeah past me is a dumb bitch, do not trust her.

“Yes, Mr. Lang, I can look into the health and safety codes of your former employer. Yes, of course. No, I don’t think we can sue him for gross misconduct for dressing his dog up as an elf for Christmas…”

Enjolras exhaled. Ever since he’d got the license to open his law practice a week ago, everyone and their ancestors in this town had been calling him at all hours of the day. He began to suspect this was the reason medieval healers got labeled with promiscuity. Enjolras, too, had been letting strangers into his private home from the crack of dawn to the middle of the night ever since the plaque, Enjolras, Attorney at Law was barely hung. 

Grantaire painted him the sign right after Enjolras got his business permit approved. They had spent the weeks before that barely seeing each other since Enjolras was running around the county for the bar admission and ten different types of licenses. Grantaire, meanwhile, was going slightly insane trying to put together his student production of The Muppet Christmas Carol.

The show, when it had happened, was a mixture of unmitigated chaos and a cooing machine, where, instead of scary ghosts, the lessons (eat your vegetables, share your toys, be nice to your parents) came in the form of various toys and confectionery. The plot got away from the source material so much that Enjolras silently questioned if the show should still have been called the Muppet Christmas Carol, instead of, you know, kids wearing onesies running around with music. 

They were, however, absolutely adorable. Noelle and her best friend Lily played sugar plum fairies (yes, there were three of them, they were the “ghosts” of Christmas present). Enjolras sat with Mrs. H and she kept a steady commentary on the performance.

“I remember when R was one of those kids. He was usually the only boy, so he got all the good parts, very Billy Elliot-esqe. He was excellent, of course, the boy was dancing before he could walk,” she whispered to Enjolras, but she kept her eyes trained on the stage. “I thought New York would claim him forever, but here he is. Doesn’t spend as much time dancing, but much happier than before. He still uses the school gym when he feels like moving though, installed those floor-length mirrors all by himself.” 

Enjolras turned to her, hesitating. “He doesn’t talk much about New York.”

Mrs. H hummed in acknowledgment, she nodded. “It’s his tale to tell. Even I don’t know much about it; I think he kept the worst of it from me. All I know is that the city isn’t for him, he spent his childhood wishing to leave a small town, but then he found out that a slightly bigger one, not a city, was the answer after all. He told me people make a place, not the other way around, and he was content to move here a few years after I put down my roots in this town. It must have been difficult for him, having to find another path after he was so sure of himself all his life. He bore it with grace though, and I couldn’t be prouder.”

The show was coming to an end, the children were, inexplicably, reciting a verse from _How the Grinch Stole Christmas!_ to the roaring applause of the confused but delighted audience. Grantaire and his friend and fellow teacher, Jehan, were invited to the curtain call with the students and Enjolras stood up, whistling loudly. He got a wink in his direction from Grantaire and an amused stare from Cosette for his troubles. 

The conclusion of both the school’s Christmas show and Enjolras’ permit-seeking odyssey had meant Enjolras finally got to ask Grantaire out on a proper date that didn’t include Chinese takeout. 

Today, after saying goodbye to his last client of the day, cutting short three more phone calls that came well outside of the advertized office hours, and turning off his work phone with satisfaction, Enjolras panicked over the dress code and general first date etiquette. This was stupid, really, he had known Grantaire for a little over a month and saw the man nearly every day, even if it was limited to only a quick exchange of greetings or, lately, a chaste peck on the lips before they parted.

The point was, there should not have been any nerves involved at this stage.

Logic did not matter in the face of a man trying to impress an object of his desire. Enjolras shook his head while shedding his work clothes on his way to the bathroom. He was going to do his damn best to look perfect tonight. At least he had finished fixing the drywall and there had been no paint or dust or pieces of plasters in his hair for the last five days. At least Enjolras had that going for him.

They picked a French bistro the next town over as their destination for tonight. The drive should be close to forty minutes, which would give Enjolras plenty of time to calm down, or sweat awkwardly if they had nothing to talk about. Great, now he had another thing to worry about.

Frantically googling conversation starters, Enjolras settled on an article from _The New York Times_. He quickly scanned the topics while blow-drying his hair (thankfully not causing a power outage this time). Having prepared for all inevitabilities, he felt a little better. Enjolras moved on to the wardrobe, picking a red turtleneck sweater and a pair of dark jeans, he took one last look at himself. The last few weeks spent lifting tiles and firewoods had done him good. His arms and stomach were toned and he liked the feeling of being physically stronger. His hair grew a little longer than he’d usually let it; he’d have to visit a barber soon, but Grantaire’s hair was much wilder than his, so he should be good on that account. Considering himself acceptable to be seen in public, Enjolras moved back downstairs to wait for Grantaire, who insisted on driving since Enjolras would “surely land them in a different town”.

It didn’t matter, Enjolras had long found that nothing was sexier than competence and Grantaire had that in spades. He had never seen a task at which the schoolteacher didn’t excel and he couldn’t wait to find out more of what those hands can do. Feeling giddy, Enjolras decided to wait on the porch rather than the office despite the cold. He’d been sitting down in a stuffy room all day and fresh air was a welcome respite. Enjolras was so lost in thought that he didn’t realize that Grantaire was a few minutes late until the beloved red truck swerved to a stop right in front of him. Out came a frantic Grantaire.

“I’m sorry, I’m late! I forgot to put snow chains on and it’s been snowing nonstop today,” he said, coming to a halt “Hi.”

Enjolras leaned in to give him a peck on the cheek and Grantaire beamed.

“Hello, you are literally three minutes late and you look swell. No apologies needed,” Enjolras said, lingering much closer to Grantaire’s ear than the conversation warranted. It was always quiet in this town. There was never a reason to invade Grantaire’s personal space whatsoever, but Enjolras liked it anyway. He liked the way Grantaire got uncharacteristically flustered and shy. He liked the way a small, pleased smile appeared on the corner of his lips and how he’d unconsciously leaned into Enjolras’ gravity. This thing between them was still new and thrilling; they were transitioning from flirting to dating and that came with its own set of unspoken rules, but when the other participant was such a prize, you couldn’t help but dive headlong into the uncharted territory. 

“Alright, Holden, we really do have to go unless you want to miss the reservation and end up eating curry on the couch again,” Grantaire said before tucking him by the hand. He gave Enjolras a gentle squeeze before making for the driver’s seat. 

He was wearing a green flannel over a soft white t-shirt that perfectly hugged his body, accentuating his former dancer physique. Enjolras debated just staring at him for the duration of the drive but decided that it would be too creepy. He’d table that idea for their next outing. 

Grantaire’s easy demeanor was slightly strained. He was talking a mile a minute and that was the only sign of how jittery he was about their first official date.

“You are nervous!” Enjolras announced happily.

“No, I’m not! How rude,” Grantaire replied, struggling for composure.

“You totally are. You were talking really fast and you bit your lip when you thought we had gone quiet for longer than thirty seconds.”

“Lies and slanders.”

They both giggled at that and the middle school dance awkwardness slowly dissipated, replaced by quiet anticipation of what the night would bring. 

When they got to the restaurant, Enjolras laid his hand on the table, palm up in a silent invitation and Grantaire slowly slotted his fingers through Enjolras’. They browsed the menu that way.

The restaurant was lovely. Dim lights and gingham tablecloths kept up the romantic setting without crossing into a stuffy territory. Grantaire ordered a matelote after the chef confirmed that she could make it without wine. Enjolras got a coq au vin and they filled up on the excellent bread and butter even before the food arrived. There were comfortable lulls in the conversation here and there and Enjolras decided to bring out his memorized conversation starters,

“If you could have dinner with anyone famous, alive or dead, whom would you invite?”

“Oh that’s a good one, Voltaire or Tchaikovsky probably? I would really love to ask Tchaikovsky about his trick on finding a patron who would pay him in gold to just fuck off and do whatever he wanted on the condition that he didn’t meet or ever talk to her. That’s the dream for sure,” Grantaire said before taking a sip of his ginger ale. Enjolras nodded, asking a few clarification questions about the process of getting a patronage before moving on to another question,

“Would you like to be famous? In what way?”

“Oh no, I would be terrible as a famous person. Really, I wouldn’t know what to do. It’s awkward enough seeing my students’ parents in pajamas at the farmers’ market and--” Grantaire abruptly paused. “Wait. Enjolras, are these the questions from _The New York Times_? Oh my God, are you trying to trick me into falling in love with you?”

Enjolras sputtered. Yes, the article did say they were questions to make people fall in love, but he skimmed it, surely, a few questions did not count as a scheme.

“No! Yes! Well, no? I mean they are from that article, but I wasn’t going to make you answer all of it! I just thought they seem like a good conversation starter…”

By now Grantaire was laughing so hard he was at risk of falling off his chair and Enjolras squirmed uncomfortably. When he could breathe again, Grantaire looked from under his eyelashes and said, “If you want to do this right, we have to stare into each other’s eyes for four minutes too, you know?”

“Alright, I am game if you are.”

“Oh you are so on.”

They were barely holding it together, being grown men trying to start a staring contest. The timer was set and Enjolras struggled not to laugh. It was all the more difficult when Grantaire kept twitching his nose like he was dying to scratch it. After a few seconds though, he melted into the moment. He’d always been fascinated by the warm glow of the other man’s eyes and he could spend a lot more than four, unrestrained minutes looking at Grantaire.

His reaction wasn’t one-sided either. Grantaire also stopped fidgeting. He looked soft and fond and Enjolras was hopelessly gone for him.

***

They walked back to the car hand in hand after sharing a slice of clafoutis. The night was freezing cold and they ended up running toward the car to escape the threat of frostbite. When Grantaire started the truck again and the welcoming heat filled the space, he turned around before he put the car in drive and kissed Enjolras full on the mouth, pleasantly surprising him into parting his lips. When Enjolras recovered, he pulled Grantaire closer, lacing his fingers through his hair. After a few minutes, Grantaire reluctantly pulled away.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for the last three hours,” he said.

Enjolras laughed, “Why haven’t you followed through until now? I was dying in that restaurant.”

“I didn’t want to seem too eager!”

“I used a love quiz on you! The least you can do is help me feel less like a creep.”

“Got it, footsie in fancy restaurants from now on.”

They drove on, chatting amicably about their respective plans for the next few days. Grantaire was telling him about dog-sitting for Bahorel and potentially bringing the dog (Toby) to his class. 

“We literally picked Toby off the street last year. He was this Yeti-looking thing wandering the land and I thought we’d seen a Sasquatch, so I made Bahorel turn the car around. The dog was just wagging his tail at us like we were his long lost best friends or something. He didn’t have a collar or a microchip and his paws were all sore from so much walking, so Bahorel just kept him.”

“Didn’t you want to? You saw him first.”

“Right?” Grantaire agreed. “But it made more sense for Bahorel to keep him. He lives on a farm, after all, so Toby got a chance to see if he could make it as a sheepdog. He couldn’t, by the way. He just wanted to cuddle the hell out of the sheep all the time.”

He made everything seem so easy, Enjolras thought, found a dog on the road, let’s just take him home. “Do you know that you are something else? Everything is possible with you. A dog? A house? I feel like I have been missing out on this type of magic living in the city.”

Grantaire turned to him, shaking his head. “A city has its own aura, but it is also very complicated. If I were to find Toby there, I wouldn’t even know where to put him. He’s bigger than my apartment back in New York.”

“You don’t talk about New York much,” Enjolras ventured, carefully.

Grantaire sighed, “New York is hard to talk about. I guess it’s a long drive, so you might as well know what you’ve gotten yourself into before anything gets too...serious. I’m sure my mom or Eponine told you I was a dancer. I started young because my mom loved ballet and she had to quit because my grandfather thought dancing wasn’t a viable career. She was a first-generation American in the family, so a lot of hopes were pinned on her. My grandparents didn’t believe in hobbies or leisure time, so after my mom got to high school, it was all about grades and colleges

“So, her passion and long lost hobbies got passed down to me. She let me try anything I wanted and if nothing stuck, who cares? Participation trophies all around. Dancing somehow stuck though. I loved it. I was good at it, good enough to get paid to go to school for it anyway.

“The problem is, everyone at Tisch was also good enough to get paid to go to school for it, right? Even if their parents were the ones paying. It was jarring, for the first time I learned that everyone was either as good or much better than me. Growing up, I was the only male dancer in school productions most of the time, so there wasn't even any competition to speak of.” Grantaire stopped there, looking at Enjolras for a reaction, although the story was a familiar one so far.

“I know what you mean. My first year at Georgetown was terrible too. My high school had its fair share of overachievers, but it was still a pretty small bubble. God, imagine the most insufferable know-it-all in your class, now there’s a hundred of them.”

“You meant there were a hundred of you?”

Enjolras swatted him gently, too afraid to derail the car, and Grantaire was right after all.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t remind me. It was still a good time though, I miss the feeling of knowing everything, the invincibility, the infinity. The conviction of an eighteen-year-old is just unparalleled.”

“That sounds fun,” Grantaire said with a smile. “Mine went a little...differently. The thing about ballet is, it is a skill, like any other. You do it for ten thousand hours and you get pretty good at it, but what sets it apart is the physical strength needed to keep practicing. Did you know that when professional athletes take a day off, they immediately start losing muscle mass? It’s physically impossible not to get worse just because your body needed a rest, but I am just a stubborn asshole by nature. I pushed and pushed and I was miserable the whole four years I was there. I’d forgotten what it was like to dance just because it was fun.”

Grantaire’s hands gripped the wheel so tightly, his knuckles had gone white. He looked straight ahead on the road ahead, even though theirs was the only car around. They had been on the road for twenty minutes, it would be hard for Grantaire to either continue a tale he didn’t want to start or stop the clock and endure an awkward silence for the next twenty or so minutes.

“Hey,” Enjolras said softly, reaching out to squeeze his chauffeur’s thigh. “We don’t have to talk about it. We can just play I spy. Here, I’ll start, I spy with my little eye, something beginning with a c.”

Grantaire snorted into a laugh. “Oh my God. Are you trying to take my job at the school? I’m basically an I spy machine with crayons. Take that away from me and I will be unemployed, is that what you want? Enjolras?

“Thank you, though. I’m okay, but the effort didn’t go unappreciated.” Grantaire’s shoulders eased somewhat and his hands loosened their death grip on the wheel. 

“I have never worked well under pressure. I couldn’t even lie on my resume about that. So, a small town kid going to a big city for the first time, right? Frat parties, glamorous acting instructors, the high life was just everywhere. It seemed like a good way to unwire after stressing all day.

“Before I left town, my mom made me promise to pace myself. You see, addiction ran in my dad’s family. He was a functioning alcoholic for many years. My parents met when they were both starting out as adjunct professors. He was so smart and carefree, a textbook WASP, and she thought he was the whole world. He was a really fun guy. He let me sit on his lap and drive his truck when I was five. Mom was furious.” Grantaire chuckled bitterly at the memory. “I didn’t know it, but he was drunk then too. He was drunk all the time. So, a functioning alcoholic turned into a not so functioning alcoholic, then he was lost forever. He loved us, we knew that, but he couldn’t pull himself out of the bottle to be there for us. And at the end of the day, that’s what matters. 

“So, I promised my mom I would never lose sight of the important things, friendship, family, being a contributing member of society, et cetera. Except it was easier said than done. I have never seen such a huge disparity until I saw the real world of New York. Buildings as tall as the sky with gold toilets, but you have half the city sleeping on the street, many of them kids just like me, trying to reach for the moon and ending up in the gutters. I couldn’t save them. Not all of them anyway. I volunteered at food banks, taught inner-city kids how to dance, and saw a bunch of them lost to drugs and crimes anyway. The pressure from trying to keep up my skills and watching people fall into cracks of the system was just too suffocating for me. If I couldn’t help anyone, what good am I?

“The next thing I knew, I was drinking more and more. I was telling myself I had it all under control, but life doesn’t come with a manual, who knew? No Greek chorus shows up when you drink too much and forget your audition, or your class, or your best friend’s wedding,” Grantaire concluded, his voice breaking a little more at the end. Enjolras squeezed his thigh again, and this time, he let his hand rest there, thumb rubbing gentle circles on Grantaire’s leg.

“Yeah, so that was kind of the turning point. I did wake up in D.C. on Eponine’s wedding day, but it was eleven at night. By that time, I had already missed my best man’s duty, so I changed as fast as I could and made it to the venue, but the hotel’s security didn’t even let me through the door. I was just some drunk guy trying to crash a wedding. Finally, Eponine came out and she told me to leave. She said I should go before my mom could see me like that. Leave before I broke her heart like my father did

“I became my dad without even realizing when it had happened. Getting drunk was my number one priority and the proof was staring at me in the form of one of the people I love the most. Eponine should have been dancing with her wife, instead, she was stopping her belligerent, pathetic best friend from ruining the day. She gave me water, rubbed my back and she was _devastated_ , Enjolras. She’s never asked for much and I couldn’t do a bare minimum. I didn’t deem her wedding important enough to stay sober for, not even for a day. I might have broken my mom’s heart, but I stomped on Eponine’s. And she somehow still stayed after that. 

“So, I packed up. Left my New York apartment, checked myself into rehab, and here I am,” he finished, and Grantaire, being Grantaire, attempted to lighten the tone “Ta-da!” He made a little jazz hands.

“Pull over,” Enjolras said.

“What?”

“Please pull over,” he repeated.

Grantaire deftly maneuvered the car to a stop at the hard shoulder. “Are you going to be sick, the story isn’t that bad is it? Do you want to cance--”

Enjolras released his seatbelt and grabbed Grantaire’s collars, pulling him closer and crushed their mouths back together. He poured everything that couldn’t be said into the kiss. He needed to tell Grantaire how sorry he was that Grantaire had to learn his lesson the hard way. How stunning Grantaire was for pulled himself back to the light inch by inch. And how happy he was that they were here, together, on a road surrounded by nothing but cornfields and cattle in the middle of nowhere.

“Thank you, R. Thank you for being so strong and kind. Thank you for being here. Thank you for being who you are.”

Grantaire nodded and smiled. He leaned in for another lingering kiss, lips parted to let Enjolras find more of himself, in return, at every connection their bodies made.

He was home.

***


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like this ugly house fic, you might like the one shots I did for the Les Mis Holiday Exchange? I am half agony, half hope.  
> \- [I Only Wish for You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27892516), rated T, Enjolras embarks on the world's dumbest plan to get a boyfriend.  
> \- [Inexprimable Douceur](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27969086), rated E, featuring oblivious R, cookies, and light reincarnation smut.

Grantaire walked up the stairs two steps at a time. He now had a spring in his step, as his mother said. How mortifying.

He couldn’t find it in himself to care. Things had been going well with Enjolras, his _boyfriend_ for the past few months. Enjolras was becoming a famous local witch doctor and Grantaire still delighted in showing him the intricacies, wonder, and pain of country living. The town had gotten used to the sight of them holding hands and even Eponine had stopped the skeptical eyebrow that seemed permanently raised in their presence in the first few weeks that Enjolras and Grantaire had been together. Eponine had always been overprotective and since Grantaire was not exactly capable of taking care of himself for a while. He would always be grateful for that.

Jehan answered the door with a bright smile. They, too, understood the agony of trial by fire and had come out stronger as a result. Today, Jehan was in a novelty apron that made them look like Spongebob with a six pack. It frighteningly clashed with their flaming red hair, french braided down on their back.

“R! You are early! Why are you always early these days?” Jehan greeted him with a hug and a huge smile. They moved away and let Grantaire through the apartment towards the kitchen and Grantaire stopped to scoop up Cerberus, the ancient one-eyed cat Jehan had picked up from a dumpster back in their college days. Cerberus purred happily and started kneading Grantaire’s chest as he was being carried.

Jehan owned the only secondhand bookstore in town. It was one of the biggest in the state and had become somewhat of a local attraction in the last few years. Because of their day job as a fellow schoolteacher, Jehan’s shop was often left unattended. They had an honor code where the customers paid whatever they thought the book was worth and Jehan sometimes straight up insisted on people taking books for free because “it felt right”. Grantaire had yet to leave this house without at least one book. He tried to return as many as he remembered, but Jehan’s shop was in danger of sinking by the sheer weight of all the books, so Grantaire thought he might have been doing them a favor by taking a few away.

The kitchen smelled heavenly, Jehan was a firm believer in the importance of nourishing both the body and the mind. They were forever making soups and cookies if a day was looking ever so slightly overcast. The apartment was positively overflowing with floral explosions and it had been a sanctuary for Grantaire, in every sense of the word.

“Enjolras should be here in about ten,” Grantaire said, pocketing his phone away.

“No problem, the food will be ready by then too. He’s doing me a favor anyway, tell him no hurry,” Jehan said while pouring out a cup of lavender and lemon tea for Grantaire. They had the biggest tea collection out of everyone he knew in his life. “Now _tell me_ , how are things going?”

“Let’s see, Arthur got a nosebleed in class and all the other kids wailed because they all thought he was going to die. I fixed Mrs. Houcheloup's stove, oh and I accepted the ABC Community Theatre’s offer today? They said they are looking for a dancer for their next production and they seemed just chaotic enough to want me,” Grantaire replied, grinning.

Jehan squealed and flew into his arms, nearly dislodging Cerberus in the process. “You haven’t been on stage in so long! I am so proud of you. This doesn’t happen to have anything to do with wanting your boyfriend to see you in spandex, does it?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny your accusation.” Grantaire preened.

Just then, the doorbell rang, and Grantaire shot up to get the door, much to Jehan’s amusement. He really needed to start playing it cool.

He let Enjolras in with a kiss. “Hello there, perfect timing as usual. Jehan made sweet potato pot pie.”

Enjolras whistled appreciatively. He took off his coat and hung it on the hook by the door, but he tucked Grantaire back before he could lead them back to the kitchen. He wrapped his arms around the smaller man’s waist from the back and gave him a lingering kiss. 

“Give me a minute, I haven’t seen you in two days,” Enjolras said, nuzzling Grantaire’s neck. 

“And whose fault is that?” he replied, relaxing into the hug and twisting his head back to look at Enjolras, who tried to slyly breathe in the scent of his hair, but was only successful in making the gesture slightly creepier. Good thing Grantaire loved him to distraction. 

“Darlington’s fault obviously. How have you people been living without a lawyer for this long? I just helped Mr. Harriet recover his pension and Bahorel said that’s not even the first time the coal plant tried to pull that.”

“You saw Bahorel today?”

“Oh yeah, I needed to talk to him about some legal stuff. He said to save him two portions of whatever Jehan is making, by the way. Oh, that reminds me,” Enjolras said, shaking his head. He went back to his satchel and got a plastic folder out. With that, his lawyer face was back on, and Grantaire allowed himself a moment of weakness because Enjolras’ I-mean-business face was, in layman terms, pretty damn hot. 

After greeting Jehan with pleasantries, Enjolras handed them a few pages of legal-looking documents and he pointed to a few highlighted paragraphs. 

“There weren't a lot of records on the Patron-Minette Enterprise made to the public, but I found out that they are basically a vampire octopus. They’ve got their hands on everything, from funeral homes to pet food stores, and they are the same property developer that forced Bahorel’s clients out of their home last year. They have been engaging in something that looks a hell of a lot like predatory pricing for at least a couple of years now, and when that doesn’t work, they buy out local businesses and bait owners with promises of better profit margins and employee retention. Just like the one offered on the letter you got.”

Jehan looked over them quickly and nodded. “So, there’s nothing we can do? All these are legal? They badgered poor Mr. Mabeuf so much until Cosette’s dad threatened to audit their business licenses and permits.”

Enjolras signed. “Yes and no. There isn’t much we could do in terms of legal recourse at this point. You are not interested in their offer, but they have the right to offer it. I mean, you are young, energetic and your bookstore functions a lot more like a library,” he said, gesturing vaguely to in the direction of the shop downstairs, much to Grantaire’s amusement.

He continues, “This means that profits and offers of employment don’t appeal to you, but there are a lot of small business owners out there that can fall prey to this practice, especially if they were already losing money because of Patron-Minette's competitive pricing. If we can prove that they cut their own profits just to kill off competitors then we’ve got them, but it’s a long shot. I’ll look into history as a landlord too. See what Bahorel’s clients say.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, Enjolras, but you don’t sound hopeful,” Jehan asked.

Enjolras nodded solemnly. “I am not that experienced in litigation, but the letters and the contracts I got to see are pretty much ironclad. I do have an idea though. I have been writing articles for my old nonprofit since I got here and I was wondering if you would mind writing a few from your experience as a small business owner facing this situation? Our publication has a pretty wild reach and spotlighting it can bring more resources and investigation into the cause, even without a legal option.”

Jehan perked up instantly. “Yes, I’d like that. I haven’t written anything nonfiction since a few writing classes back in college, but if you think this would help, I’ll ask around to see if anyone has more stories to tell too.”

The oven rang and they started clearing out the breakfast bar for dinner. Jehan didn’t believe in dining tables and Grantaire definitely respected that about them. 

***

Before they left, Jehan excused themself and ran down to the bookshop while Grantaire and Enjolras got their coats and scarves back on. They came back holding a paperback and handed it to Enjolras.

“ _This Is How You Lose the Time War_? Really Jehan, are you trying to tell me something?”

Jehan just grinned. “It is not about winning or losing, actually. I’d say it is about finding out what is more important than destiny. I read it and thought about you!” 

“Hey, don’t I get a book today?” Grantaire interjected.

“Why don’t you two just read that book together? I am running a business here, R,” Jehand replied sternly, but they were wearing fuzzy knee-high socks with a purple polka dot pattern on, so the effect was slightly diminished.

Grantaire’s mumble of “no, you’re not” was the last words spoken before their host got sick of them and gently pushed Enjolras and Grantaire out of the door. 

They walked hand in hand to the street and Enjolras guided Grantaire towards his car.

“Yours?” Grantaire asked suspiciously. “My house is literally right here. Yours is a fifteen minutes drive away.”

Enjolras hummed and planted a kiss on Grantaire’s temple. “Humor me? We can spend the weekend together there?”

Grantaire was already following Enjolras along, but he couldn’t help putting up a token protest. “Did your boiler break again? Need more firewood? Do I need my toolbox?”

“You wound me. Do I really need an ulterior motive to want to spend time with my boyfriend without the risk of running into everyone in the town for the weekend?”

“Everyone in the town shows up at your door anyway, Chip.” 

“Yes, But I disabled the doorbell so we wouldn’t know.”

Grantaire laughed and let Enjolras drive them back to the farmhouse-cum-law practice. Grantaire still loved the sign he’d painted for Enjolras, but it was looking a little faded. He made a mental note to do a touch up this weekend.

When they went in, none of the light switches worked and Grantaire barked out a laugh.

“How could you? You needed a handyman after all! Is this all I am to you? I am so cruelly tricked. I was promised a matrimonial altar, but I was tricked into the sacrificial one. I now understand the plight of Iphigenia. My Achilles remains an unattainable lover. Nothing but a childish fantasy.”

“I’m so sorry! I promised I didn’t bring you here to make you fix things! But would you just go down to the basement to see what you can do? We can do the Agamemnon reenactment after, please?” Enjolras said while lightly nudging him to the back staircase down to the basement.

Grantaire chuckled and made his way down. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t been down there in a few weeks so perhaps it was high time he started fixing things in this house again. He shone his phone’s flashlight onto the switchboard.

“Really, Enjolras, this thing is off aga--”

The light came on and Grantaire was speechless for once. The dingy basement was transformed into a dance studio. Complete with soundproof walls and a floor-to-ceiling mirror on one side, lined with a long barre. The floor had been redone into a sprung dance floor and Grantaire spun around, gaping at Enjolras, who looked extremely smug.

“See? you didn’t need to fix anything,” Enjolras said with a wild grin.

“What have you done? How? Why? God, Enjolras, this must have cost you an arm and a leg.”

Enjolras waved his hand dismissively. “It wasn’t that bad. Bahorel cut me a deal anyway. He said the town’s basketball team is sick of having to make sure the mirror in the gym stays intact. You are going to dance a bit more now, so I thought you should have a space for yourself and you don’t have any more room at your place, so…”

Grantaire all but jumped up and down like a child. “Thank you! Thank you, thank you,” he punctuated each word with a kiss on Enjolras’ face. His boyfriend laughed and pulled him closer, lifting him up from the floor in a weirdly bro-ly bearhug. Enjolras then fixed it with a very thorough kiss that included a not insignificant amount of tongue and Grantaire wondered if they should utilize the new dance studio right then and there. Much too soon, Enjolras broke off and cupped his face firmly, tilting his chin up.

“You know I love you, right?”

Grantaire nodded. They had only been saying the earth-shattering words for a few weeks and neither of them had made a habit of casually dropping the phrase yet.

“I know it’s a little bit soon, but we see each other a lot anyway and we are both so busy. I thought it wouldn’t be too bad here if you have your own space, especially if you are getting into community theater. I mean, you did so much for this house it’s basically half yours by right already. And you will save so much money! I know you are still paying rent, so you can just pay utilities here instead and we can--”

Enjolras was babbling and Grantaire thought he had a pretty good idea on where the lawyer was going, but he was nothing if not a brat, so he was going to make Enjolras say it anyway.

“Enjolras, babe, do you have a destination in mind?”

Enjolras snorted, but he seemed to regain his wits as a result. “Grantaire, I love you and I would very much like to wake up and go to sleep next to you every day. Would you move in with me?”

“Hell, yes,” Grantaire replied with a smile too genuine to be passed as a smirk. “For the record, I would have moved in even if you still had the murder basement, but this is so much better.” He stood up on his toes and kissed Enjolras again. The man responded beautifully and lifted him up, placing him on the barre and pushed his back onto the mirror.

They did get a chance to christen the dance studio after all.

***

The fact that Eponine was Grantaire’s landlord smoothed the moving process along significantly. He simply had to give his one-month notice and tolerated a few teasing remarks from both his best friend and her spouse and he was good to go. He even gained free labor on the weekend when Cosette bullied Eponine and bribed Noelle into helping Grantaire pack up his possessions from the house.

“You have way too many books, here, Jehan, just take them all,” Eponine said, tossing a few into an open box.

“No!” Grantaire and Jehan yelped in unison.

“You nerds made this too easy,” she said before winking to Cosette.

They were all teaching Noelle how to fold clothes in the bedroom when Enjolras barged in, shouting hellos happily.

“There you are! Hi, guys, thank you so much for helping out. We might need to move R’s stuff a bit sooner than expected,” Enjolras announced, handing a print out of an email to Jehan. While they read, Enjolras kept talking, “Your articles did so well! You are an excellent writer, Jehan. It got huge traction in D.C. and now a nonprofit reached out to me. They want to start a program for small-town legal aid! Specifically for business owners. You should be really proud.”

Everyone started congratulating Jehan, even Noelle, who couldn’t have understood more than a few words of what Enjolras had just said, was clapping loudly. Jehan, however, stilled.

“Enjolras, they are offering you a job” They said each word carefully, eyes fixed on Grantaire.

Enjolras’ grin widened. “Exactly! That’s another piece of good news! They were really happy with my work here and they thought they could replicate it across small towns near D.C., it wouldn’t be that difficult. A few rotations of lawyers should be able to cover a number of areas.”

“But your job offer is in D.C.”

Grantaire dropped the towel he had been folding. “What? You are moving to D.C.?”

Enjolras had the decency to look sheepish. “Yeah, I wanted it to be a surprise, but I just got the email today and couldn't keep it in any longer. I looked into transferring you there too! It really wouldn't be hard, R. Schools in D.C. are always looking for teachers. I called and set up a few appointments already and we could just go in next week if you can take a few days off. Look for a place there together?”

“Oh you absolute _bastard_ ,” Eponine spat and threw the clothes she had been holding onto the floor. “Did you even think about Grantaire before you accepted the job? He doesn't want to live in a fucking city! He couldn’t! How could you even think to suggest that?”

“Ep, please.” Grantaire whispered, barely audible, but the room was so silent that everyone could hear it. “I think we are done with packing for today. Thank you, everyone, so much for helping. I’ll call y’all later, ok?”

Everyone except Enjolras and Grantaire shuffled out of the room quietly. Cosette smoothly scooped up a confused Noelle while Eponine threw one last disgusted look at Enjolras.

When the door was safely shut, Grantaire sat down at the foot of the bed. He felt numb all over. One minute he was taking the next step, moving in with his boyfriend, and now? Now he didn’t have a clue what was happening. He laced his fingers together to stop them from shaking and Enjolras kneeled down in front of him, grabbing his hands gently.

“Are you mad at me? I’m sorry, I just sprung this on you, but I thought D.C. isn’t that big a city. We can even live in Maryland or Virginia. I don’t mind commuting for a bit each day.”

Grantaire took a steadying breath. He had to get through this. They would find a way out of this. “I’m not mad. I’m just a little surprised. I thought you liked it here.”

Enjolras nodded so fast Grantaire thought he might get a whiplash. “I do. So much. But this is such a good opportunity, R. I can do so much more with their resources. Darlington isn’t the only town with a corporate takeover or lawyer problems. This way, I can design programs with realistic, measurable plans. I can really improve people’s lives!”

“How long will you be gone for?”

Enjolras looked taken aback. He looked up at Grantaire from the floor, confused. “They offered me a permanent contract, so I’ll be there for as long as I can meet the goals I set.”

Realization twisted inside of Grantaire like a knife and it shook him to the core. He was trembling from head to toe and he withdrew his hands from Enjolras’ grasp. “I can’t come with you, Enjolras. My life is here.”

“What? Grantaire, be reasonable. It’s not even that far. We can visit your mom every other weekend if you want. Don’t you want to be with me?” Enjolras said, shaking his head. He got up from his spot on the floor and started pacing.

“I can’t. Enjolras, you don’t understand. I tried to explain it before, but maybe I didn’t do a good enough job. Look, every single day is a struggle for me. I will always want a drink. I think about that a lot, not as much as before, but I still have hours where I thought I wouldn’t make it. I’ve built my life here, with people who want nothing but the best for me." Grantaire paused to take a breath. Looking at Enjolras, willing him to understand the situation. "I found a routine that works. I have a job that I love and a community that took me in just as I am. It is the people, not the place that grounds me. A city wracked me once before. I can’t do it again”

Enjolras abruptly stopped his pacing. His face was an unreadable stone, then he met Grantaire’s eyes. “So you are saying you don’t love me enough to come.”

“Fucking hell, Enjolras, it isn’t about that!” Grantaire shouted. “I love you more than anything. You are a comfort, a light, a future, and I will continue to love you regardless of what happens. But I love me too. I have to, otherwise, I would just be dead in a ditch somewhere. I know what I need to survive and I can’t give that up, not even for you.” By now tears were flowing freely from Grantaire’s eyes. “My sobriety is an ongoing battle, Enjolras, I can’t risk a relapse.”

Enjolras came back to kneel in front of him again, running his hands all over Grantaire’s trembling body, while trailing kisses on his face. He was barely holding back his own tears. “Please, R. Could you try? For me? We could visit? I could come up here every other week and you can spend a few days a month in D.C.? I’ll be there for you every day and night, but I have to do this. I can’t just stay here knowing that I could help so many more people and chose not to.”

“You are helping people here! Enjolras. Look around. People have been coming to you and you fought for them. You are doing something tangible. You are not on the cover of a magazine, no, but what’s wrong with staying here and being loved?”

“It’s not enough.”

And that was the crux of the matter, wasn’t it? The town, Grantaire, wouldn’t be enough for Enjolras, not for long anyway. This was it for Grantaire, his life, his dreams were completed in Darlington. It was his home, but it was a just rest stop for Enjolras. Winter was turning into spring and Enjolras had his recuperation time. He was now ready to fly off into the world, fulfilling whatever grand prophecy he had once left behind. 

Grantaire hugged him with everything he had, clutching his shirt in his fingers so tight he was scared he wouldn’t be able to let go. Enjolras was sobbing on the floor, shaking his head into Grantaire’s chest and repeating a series of pleas and pleases. When Grantaire trusted himself to move again, he withdrew slowly and placed a gentle kiss on the lips he had grown to know so better than his own, for one last time.

“You should go.” 

***

Grantaire allowed himself a whole night of wallowing. He fired a quick text to let everyone know he was okay. It was a testament to how devastated he was that he didn’t even think of drinking. He would have to get out of bed to do that.

But like it or not, men’s state of emotion had nothing on the law of nature. Dawn arrived anyway and Grantaire slowly picked himself up, piece by crumbling piece. He started putting his clothes back into the closet. He arranged the books back onto the bookshelf and he made himself have some toast for breakfast. Evidence of Enjolras’ existence was still littering all over the house, like faint cigarette smoke that refused to clear out. Some of his law books were left on the coffee table. His red sweater was hanging off the back of a chair, a coffee cup he had used the day before...

He cried again when he got into the shower, biting his arm to stop himself from screaming. It would be alright. Eventually everything would be back in its place. He knew that, logically, but the raw ache was all consuming right now. His body trembled. His ears were ringing and his visions blurred, but he kept gulping for air. Grantaire had learned that all pain will pass, he just needed to take it one day at a time, and when that didn’t work, one hour at a time would have to do. In a way, it was good to know that he could withstand it. He didn’t run for a drink at the first sign of trouble. It was a different pain from the one that crippled him in New York. He was a different man. He would get through this.

A phone call interrupted his train of thought and he rushed to answer it.

“Hello, Grantaire? It’s Musichetta from the ABC Theatre. I know we scheduled your rehearsal for tomorrow, but your partner forgot she has a dental appointment then, would you be able to come in today instead? Say, eleven?”

Grantaire thought about it. He’d wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball and cry, but the universe had another plan for him, it seemed.

“Yes, sure, eleven sounds great.”

He would get through this. One minute at a time.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry. It ends well I promise!


	7. Chapter 7

Enjolras had done the right thing. He knew he had. So why it felt like he’d ripped his own heart out and stomped on it, he would never know. 

That was a lie. He knew full well why it cut the way it did. It just got worse and worse each minute he drove away from Darlington, leaving the little town behind, too far away now to be visible from the rearview mirror. He still looked for it though.

This past week had been one of the worst weeks of his life. He thought he had the whole thing figured out. He had accepted the job offer that sounded almost too good to be true. And it was. He didn’t know what the job would be like, but it had already cost him the man he loved, and Enjolras was still uncertain if it had been worth it. But there was only one way to find out at this point.

He drove on and arrived at Combeferre and Courfeyrac’s place just before sunset. D.C. was exactly the same as it was five months ago. People in dark suits weaved in and out of his way, clutching their phones and miraculously navigating the sidewalk without hitting anyone or anything. Enjolras made his way to the building and buzzed the familiar apartment’s number. They had a spare bedroom and he was staying with them until he could find his own place. They will help him survive this.

***

Enjolras prided himself on his ability to compartmentalize. Even when he was struggling at his old job, his work had never suffered. Here, now, at the Reliance Institute, he coordinated their effort to promote careers in rural areas for lawyers and amp up an awareness campaign on rights and support available to small, independent businesses. His new workplace was much smaller than Future for All, but it also spent a lot less money on fundraising and more on the actual program. In the two months that he had been here, he had set up a pilot project and recruited a few more lawyers, most of them recent graduates. His high level of productivity might have been a result of the seventy hours he had been clocking in each week and even Combeferre had given up on cautioning him about a second burnout. 

But he couldn’t stop.

As soon as he stopped working, his mind fixated on someone he had left behind. 

Enjolras had never been indecisive; he lived in the absolute. All his life, he made up his mind and held on to his conviction. These days, though. He was haunted by warm brown eyes and gentle, callous fingers. A glimpse of anyone with unruly dark curls in the metro was enough to send a bitter shot of hope down Enjolras’ spine. It was never him. That much was clear. Grantaire would never set foot in another city if he could help it. He had made that abundantly clear, it was Enjolras who couldn’t be bothered to listen.

He shook his head, as if a physical act of denial could actually stop him from thinking about the same damn story that kept him awake at night and greeted him first thing in the morning. He was reviewing a media statement for the last time before sending it to their PR team when one of the recruits knocked on the door.

“Marius, what can I do for you?” Enjolras asked. It was not exactly unusual for the new kid to drop by, but he was slightly naive for Enjolras’ taste and a visit from Marius could take between three to thirty minutes. There was no telling with him. Enjolras braced himself for another long discussion on the myth of trickle-down economics and slumped slightly into the chair.

“Nothing, really. I picked up your mail by accident, so I am just bringing them back to you. One of these is huge, what have you got in there? A college admission package?” Marius laughed at his own joke as he walked out of the room and left Enjolras with a pile of official-looking letters. He had used his new office as the forwarding address for any mail from Darlington and among the utility bills and the usual flyers, the thick envelope Marius mentioned did stand out like a sore thumb. Enjolras found his letter opener and sliced the tape away. 

Someone had made an offer on his house.

A small family of four was looking to move and start an animal sanctuary on the farm bordering Enjolras’. The letter explained that because of the work he had put in, they were happy to give him a much higher price than the market average and the real estate firm was certain it was unlikely that an offer like this would come along again. Enjolras would do well to take it. His life was in D.C. now.

But it was more than a house though. It was a place where he had learned to build himself back up from the ground. It was a warm refuge when the wind was howling and the news of the outside world was crippling. It was a destination for people of all ages and abilities to come to him for help. It was a place that let him find himself again.

It was his heart.

It was Grantaire singing softly underneath the morning sun when he painted the house’s number with gold flakes on the front door.

It was Grantaire making peach cobblers in the kitchen while Enjolras bugged him with kisses and gentle banter.

It was Grantaire paddling barefoot to Enjolras’ office in the middle of the night, massaging his shoulders, and coaxing him to go to sleep.

It was a dance studio that was never used. The floor had not gotten a chance to be worn out. The dancer it was built for had left. 

It was a dream abandoned.

Enjolras cast it aside like wasted potential. 

It didn’t have to be though. A family and an animal sanctuary could liven up the place, bring more business to Darlington, and make the house a home again.

Clutching the offer letter in his hands so hard the paper was tearing at the edge. Enjolras got up. He walked to Director Lamarque, his boss’s office. He knew suddenly what he had to do.

***

_50 mph._

_80 mph._

_110 mph._

Enjolras couldn’t drive fast enough for his mind to settle. He had mistakes to fix and he was beginning to think that there wouldn’t be a time when he didn’t wish he could be in Darlington as soon as possible.

After an eternity and five different near misses, Enjolras arrived at his destination. He slammed the break as soon as he saw Grantaire’s building and bolted from the car toward the front door only to freeze on the spot.

The house was for sale.

Head spinning, Enjolras did what he should have done six hours ago. He fished his phone out of his pocket and dialed Grantaire’s number, but it went straight to voicemail.

“Fuck,” he cursed before jumping back into the car. There were two thousand people in Darlington. He was going to find Grantaire, come hell or high water.

Enjolras sped up so fast he left tire tracks on the road and ended up in front of a house with a familiar green door. He made his way towards it, ringing the doorbell impatiently.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Eponine said by way of greetings.

“Please, Eponine, where is he? I have to find him.”

“No you fucking don’t. Go fuck yourself Enjolras. It took him forever just to fake a laugh and now you show up? After two damn months? Again at my door like nothing happened? Why would I help you? Why would anyone help you?”

Enjolras ran his hands through his hair. His insides twisted like a snake, sharp and relentless. His knees buckled, if Eponine refused to help him, he would go to Jehan, he would go to Mrs. H, he would bother everyone in this town until he could find Grantaire again.

“I just drove six hours here. I am exhausted and all I want is to talk to him. Eponine, please.”

Eponine was unmoved. “Well, tough shit. Nobody asked you to, so you can just drive back to whichever hell hole you came from. Frankly, I don’t really care where, as long as you get out of my face.”

Enjolras wanted to cry. He steadied his hand on the doorframe, hoping Eponine wouldn’t slam it if he was still in the way. “Please, Eponine. I’ll beg. I’ll kneel. I’ll do anything you want. Anything he wants. If he doesn’t want me anymore I promise to get out of this town and never come back, but I have to see if anything can be salvaged. I love him so much and I was an idiot. Please, just give me one more chance.”

“Oh fuck this,” Eponine said, pinching the bridge of her nose like Enjolras was aging her by a decade. “Fine. Fucking fine! One chance, Enjolras. And if you hurt him again I _will_ mutilate you and put your body through a wood chipper. Are we clear?”

***

Enjolras drove out onto the edge of Darlington. It was so far from the town center he was practically in another county. Following Eponine’s directions, he found a large house with an expansive lawn, stark white against the green of late summer. He rang the doorbell, but instead of Grantaire, a bald, shirtless man answered it.

“Hi, I’m looking for Grantaire? Is this the right address?”

“Yes, he’s just making dinner for us, let me go get him,” the man walked away, shouting, “R, love, there’s a blonde guy at the door for you.”

_Love._

Could Grantaire have moved on already? The man seemed nice. He was tall and he had a wide, genuine smile. Could he be better than Enjolras?

Grantaire walked through the door and Enjolras forgot every coherent thought he had ever had in his life.

“Grantaire,” he whispered. He longed to reach out. To touch the man who had been _his_ less than two months ago. Grantaire was beautiful. He would always be beautiful, with his intelligent eyes and his easy smile, but he also looked so tired. There were dark circles under his eyes like he hadn’t been sleeping well and Enjolras wanted more than anything to smooth all his lines away, to hold him again in his arms and promise that he would never go anywhere again, as long as Grantaire would have him. He yearned.

“Enjolras?” Grantaire said. “What are you doing here?”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras repeated. He couldn’t stop saying the name now that he had allowed himself to start. “Could you ever forgive me? I have been an idiot. I left you when I was the happiest I have ever been. I wanted to try to get back to what I thought was my purpose, but it wasn’t. A thousand different people in D.C. could do that job I accepted. Hell, ten thousand more would probably be better than I was. There are a million men out there who are infinitely better than me, but there was only one of you. Smart, kind, wonderful, beautiful you. Leaving you was the biggest mistake of my life and I was an ignorant asshole. I am more sorry than any words I could think of to describe it.” His hand reached out involuntarily, wanting to touch Grantaire to make him understand the weight of his words, but he stopped himself at the last second. He might not be welcomed anymore. 

“The last two months have been hell. Every second was spent thinking about you. I wondered what you were doing, _all the time_. Did you remember to eat? Sometimes you don’t when you get so busy fixing people’s houses. Were the kids giving you a headache or were they behaving? Did you like the theater troops? Were you having fun? I just hoped that you weren’t as miserable as I was, Grantaire, more than anything I just don’t want you to be hurt. Ever.

“You made me feel like everything was possible, like I was invincible. And I forgot, I forgot that it was you that made me _whole_. I know I don’t deserve this second chance I am begging you for and I know you’ve moved on now. Look at this beautiful place. Look at your new boyfriend.” He gestured to the surroundings, swallowing hard with the thought of what he was asking Grantaire to give up. “I know I am being selfish again and I have no right barging in here and disrupting it all, but please, I think I made you happy once and I promise I will do everything in my power and more to make you happy again.”

Grantaire blinked. He looked around and said, “Bossuet, you can come out now.” The man from earlier had managed to find a shirt and he stepped into the doorway, wrapped his arm around Grantaire’s shoulder. Grantaire looked up at him, smiling. “I’m okay,” he said.

So here it was, the rejection. Enjolras should have known Grantaire wouldn’t be waiting around for him forever. He brightened every room he walked in and Enjolras was lucky enough to have him for a few months. Stupid, stupid of him to let go.

“Bossuet, this is the love of my life, Enjolras.”

***

Enjolras was here. All blonde and bright just like how Grantaire had been picturing him. He wanted to bury himself in those arms as soon as opened the door, but Enjolras was talking so fast that Grantaire could hardly make sense of the words. He was hoping this would be something good, that Enjolras was here to stay, but he didn’t want to get his hopes up only to be crushed back to earth again.

So Grantaire listened, he tried to focus on each word Enjolras uttered and allowed himself to _want_. Wait, what was that about a boyfriend? Oh…

Enjolras looked like he might cry. He was all crumbled and pale. He was still in his work clothes and he must have driven all day. Grantaire had an unnatural urge to put him in a bath and force feed him tea. Maybe he would.

“I think you can kiss me now,” Grantaire said gently. 

Enjolras’ eyes were flooded with relief. His shoulders relaxed visibly and he all but flew to scoop Grantaire up. Enjolras ran his hands all over Grantaire’s body and crushed them together as if to reassure himself that this was real. This was solid. They were home.

In the end, it was Grantaire who bridged the last of the distance, meeting Enjolras halfway with his own declaration of love. There was no holding back, no finesse in their kiss. It was a raw clash of desperation barely held back. It was a tidal wave that threatened to drown them whole and Grantaire would gladly let it. Enjolras slipped his hands under his sweater and sighed contentedly, evidently pleased with the skin contact, and Grantaire arched his back to press closer to Enjolras’ heartbeat. He, too, needed convincing that this was real. He tucked Enjolras’ bottom lip between his teeth and darted his tongue out to explore the rest of his mouth. He’d missed this. Grantaire was getting better at not thinking about Enjolras during his every waking moment, but he was balancing on a knife’s edge, one wrong move and he would be plunged into an ache so encompassing that he was afraid he wouldn’t make it out.

That was probably why he’d agreed to move in with Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta. The three shared one of the biggest houses in the whole county. It was big enough for Grantaire to escape and be alone if he wanted, but his friends were always there and they welcomed him into their little family as if they had known him all his life. Just like the rest of his loved ones, they decided to have him unconditionally. Battled and bruised, but not broken.

Grantaire had tried. He wanted to forget about Enjolras and move on with his life. He worked. He danced. He painted. Bahorel had been dragging him to various martial arts classes to make sure that Grantaire was too exhausted to pine each day. But in the end, true solace came when he stopped fighting and accepted that a part of him would always belong to Enjolras. It was not his choice to make. He couldn’t help it. He knew that someday, eventually, he would be able to look back on their time together and treasure it without the sharp edge of pain. He loved Enjolras with everything he had and he was going to find a way to live with that.

But now he didn’t have to. Enjolras was right here and he had shown no inclination to let go whatsoever. Their kiss was getting a lot more heated and Grantaire let out a breathy moan and pulled Enjolras closer until his back was pressed firmly against the wall. He couldn’t care less that they were still in an open doorway until Bossuet cleared his throat loudly.

They looked up but didn’t entirely break apart, It was much too soon for that, and he saw that Joly and Musichetta had their partner in the vestibule. 

“So, this is the famous Enjolras,” Musichetta said with a smirk.

Grantaire huffed. Something about the whole event was so ridiculous that he couldn’t help but laughed wetly through his tears. Enjolras must have had no idea what was going on, but the poor man still tightened his hold on Grantaire and let him laugh into his chest to his heart’s content.

“Enjolras, Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta are my roommates. These three are together and they are nice enough to let me tag along,” Grantaire explained. 

“Oh thank God,” Enjolras replied. His relief was so palpable and Grantaire nearly lost it again as Enjolras rushed to introduce himself to the three. He told them about quitting his job in D.C. and driving all day to beg for a place in Darlington once more. They, in turn, told him about the rehearsal and invited him to the show next month.

Grantaire was smiling too much to say anything.

***

The drive back to his house was exuberant. Enjolras fought the urge to laugh like a maniac and he reached over to hold Grantaire’s hand. He lifted the hand up to nuzzle his face onto it and kissed Grantaire’s palm before putting it back down.

“You are a distracted driver, Chip. Eyes on the road!” Grantaire chided. 

“I can’t help it. You are right here and it is a real effort not to jump you right now.”

Enjolras felt rather than see Granatire roll his eyes. “Oh God, are you going to be this sappy for a while?” 

For a while didn’t even begin to cover how long Enjolras wanted to stay. He pulled over, stopped the car, and turned his whole body to face Grantaire. “I am going to be this sappy forever. I mean it. I am not going anywhere else without you. Ever again.”

Hesitation flashed in Grantaire’s eyes and Enjolras realized with a painful jolt that Grantaire simply loved him too much to hold a grudge. He was ready to take Enjolras back and accept that any moment now, he might run back to D.C. again.

Grantaire exhaled slowly, he met Enjolras’ eyes and nodded. “I think you already know that I am thoroughly, entirely yours, but it will take a little bit more time for me to believe that you are here to stay, okay? I do forgive you, but the last few weeks haven’t exactly been the easiest. My position hasn’t changed, you can’t ask me to go with you to D.C., New York, or London, or anywhere at the drop of a hat. Do you understand that?”

Time, they would need some time to settle and learn to trust their hearts again, but they had that chance now. Enjolras had the whole world in this car. He had never been more sure of anything in his entire life. The search was over. 

“I do. I didn’t listen before, but I’ve had a lot of time to think about it and see where I went wrong now. And _we_ have time,” Enjolras said. He leaned in and pressed a firm kiss on Grantaire’s forehead. “I thought I was meant to change the world, but it’s not just that. I am much better at sticking to things around me. I am just better with you. My place is wherever you want to be.”

Grantaire laughed, delighted. “Just take me home.”

***

**_Epilogue_**

Grantaire was once again down in the basement of his home, _their_ home. Lately, he spent a little more time dancing in here, with or without a show to rehearse for. Today, though, Grantaire was performing his resident handyman’s duties, making sure everything in the house was up to code. He checked the oil in the tank since December in Darlington came with temperatures more commonly associated with the North Pole and he didn’t want their guests to freeze to death or face a surprise powercut.

He walked back upstairs to Enjolras standing in the middle of the kitchen with the confidence of a five-year-old who cracked an egg once and thought they knew how to cook. The man was chopping potatoes and carrots into very irregular shapes, but Grantaire, a sucker that he was, found everything Enjolras did oddly charming and he thought the mismatched roasted potatoes and carrots would really add personality to their Christmas party. 

It was not quite Christmas yet, but they wanted to spend the real day quietly, just the two of them. It had been two years since Enjolras first set foot in Darlington. His law practice  
had grown into a promising social enterprise that served the whole district, not just Darlington. The firm only took a minimum fee from those who could afford it and funneled it back into their pro-bono work for legal aid in the rural areas. Their house could no longer accommodate the growing organization of fourteen permanent staff plus a small army of lawyers, interns, and volunteers; even wide-eyed Marius had followed Enjolras from D.C. and become one of the first full-time employees. The office was now housed in a converted factory building downtown and Enjolras was more of a director than a lawyer these days, but he’d still make time for old clients and neighbors.

With the farmhouse fully theirs again, Enjolras and Grantaire knocked down the wall between the kitchen and the former offices, making the ground floor an expansive open-plan space. The kitchen got a huge upgrade and it gave them heaps of unearned confidence that they could host a Christmas party for fifteen adults and a child.

Grantaire jumped up to sit on the counter to better watch Enjolras struggle. His own contribution of a five-spice glazed ham and a corn casserole was browning in the oven and the pecan pies had been baked yesterday. When Enjolras turned and saw him on the counter, he readily abandoned his culinary pursuits in favor of stepping into Grantaire’s space.

“Hi, gorgeous,” Enjolras said, bracketing Grantaire on both sides with his arms.

Grantaire wiggled a little to give Enjolras more room between his knees and kissed him lightly. Enjolras had followed up on his promise to be the sappiest person on earth to the letter and Grantaire had to commence no less than three stern talks regarding acceptable amounts of groping in public, or in front of his students, or in front of his mother. Enjolras reined it in a little bit more each time, but he was incorrigible and unrepentant. Grantaire couldn’t honestly say he actually minded it, anyway. “I was gone for twenty minutes and I was downstairs the whole time. In fact, you were just yelling at me to stop fiddling with the house before I came back up.”

“Too long.” Enjolras punctured each word with a kiss down his neck. “You disappeared out of bed at the crack of dawn and I don’t think I saw you for longer than ten minutes at a time today. I need my fix.” He ran his hands up and down Grantaire’s thighs, fully intent on rectifying the situation and Grantaire had to gently push him away.

“We don’t have time. The guests are coming in fifteen and your potatoes still need to roast.” He gave Enjolras a filthy kiss just to ease his ridiculous pouting and hopped off the counter to deal with the rest of the preparation. 

Grantaire didn’t tell him that he’d felt the outline of a ring box through Enjolras’ pocket while the man was too distracted with copping a feel. He’d supposed he would have to act surprised at some point tonight, but let it be known that Grantaire was nothing if not considerate.

“Alright, is there anything else?” he asked.

Enjolras moved to wrap his arms around Grantaire from the back instead, he was like some kind of stubborn ivy, and rested his chin on Grantaire's shoulder under an absurd pretense of watching him chop more vegetables.

“No, I’ve got everything I need right here.”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andddd thats a wrap! Thank you so much for reading, everyone! And especially those who stuck with it since the beginning; I am so grateful beyond words for every single one of you. Again, I am SORRY for the penultimate chapter, but I hope the payoff is worth it? 
> 
> Here are things you didn't ask for but are getting anyway:  
> -Independent businesses are like bees, they are vital and are disappearing at an alarming rate. If you can, please support your local, independent stores. I based Enjolras' job offer on the [Institute for Local Self-Reliance](https://ilsr.org/). They do great work and is nearly entirely funded by donation.  
> -Why West Virginia? It is one of those states that is so overlooked. It has one of the lowest per capita income in the U.S. and it does have a lot of problems (racism and lack of diversity being some of the most obvious ones), but if you can do so safely, I think you should give WV a chance. National parks there are largely pristine and very cheap to visit. The leaves are gorgeous in the fall and there are a bunch of very affordable ski resorts in the winter.  
> -I got a [tumblr](https://themandilorian.tumblr.com/)! Come say hi!

**Author's Note:**

> What can I say, Cheap Old Houses on Instagram just soothes my soul. Comments and kudos also sooth me! Please let me know if you love/hate/want to see anything in this fic.


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